Tom Marvolo Riddle Potter
by SisterDear
Summary: When Voldemort is defeated, the fragment of his soul still stuck in Harry drags the Boy Who Lived with it through time in search of another, complete version of itself. A time travel, Harry adopts Tom Riddle story.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Rowling. This story follows canon through book six.

AN: Stories where Voldemort raises or mentors Harry are becoming more and more common. I couldn't help wondering what would happen if it were the other way around, and so my first Harry Potter fanfic was born. Enjoy!

* * *

This could not be happening.

Harry Potter scrubbed his hands over his eyes, blinked rapidly, pinched himself, yelped, and decided that no, he was not dreaming. Or hallucinating. He somehow didn't think himself dead, either.

At least he hoped he wasn't. His head ached, his knee throbbed, and the earth heaved beneath him. Really, he was just going to lie here until the feeling of vertigo passed. If death was this unpleasant he swore he would strangle the first Higher Power he came across.

But back to the matter at hand; this could not be happening. It simply was not possible.

Because if he was not dead, it was fairly logical to think that he was alive. And for some reason that he couldn't quite recall, being alive was not a state he expected to find himself in at the present time.

But he was most definitely alive. His heart clamored for attention against the patch of cold, hard dirt beneath his chest. Behind him, over the sound of his own loud panting, came noises common to a large Muggle city. He couldn't see the sources because he was staring at a barren fenced-in courtyard and the dilapidated square building at the opposite end of said courtyard. When he eventually found the will to move, he was sure he would have dirt smeared across his cheek, currently pressed uncomfortably into the pebbly ground.

He had the unsettling feeling that if his brain would start working for just a moment he'd recognize the building in front of him. He didn't really want to, though, because he was equally sure that he would not be happy once he did, and for now it was enough to know that this was definitely nowhere near where he should be.

He should be talking with his parents in the afterlife, or on his next great adventure, or, barring that, at least in a recognizable wizard hospital. Hogwarts hospital wing, preferably.

This definitely was not Hogwarts. And it didn't look at all like any of his fantasies of life after death.

Harry made a quickly aborted attempt at getting up and quickly decided that attempting to recall what happened to dump him in this peculiar situation would be far simpler than convincing his body to move. Besides, he was curious to know how he'd managed to land himself in trouble this time.

He had a vague recollection of spinning, being buffeted by a high wind: a feeling not unlike a cross between a time turner, a portkey, and the floo network. It all combined into one mass of sensation before his memory went black.

Well. At least that explained the nausea. He'd never much liked portkeys.

The door of the building slammed open and a group of shrilly laughing children ran out into the small courtyard. Harry was off the ground and over the fence before he'd even begun to think about getting up. Pressing back against it to regain his balance, he winced as his head throbbed and knee protested the sudden activity. He waited for his head to stop spinning before opening his eyes and peering back through the wooden slats. At least he had been in a shadowed portion of the courtyard; it didn't look as though he'd been noticed.

One last child followed the others into the sunlight and Harry froze. The headache that had thus far been centered on his forehead spread sideways to hammer at his temples as well.

Oh, Merlin, no.

He was starting to get an idea of where he was now.

He really wished he wasn't.

The first time he'd seen this place was in Dumbledore's Pensieve. The second time had been when he, Ron and Hermione came to the abandoned shell of the building in order to destroy the Horcrux hidden there.

The child stepping out into the sunlight was none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The instinct to protect himself against this particular face had a nasty curse springing to his lips the moment recognition settled in. His arm was halfway through the gesture before his throat closed up and forced him to awkwardly cut off the spell. A shudder ran through his frame.

He couldn't do it.

Not again. Not so soon. He'd just done this. He deserved a break! The suddenly vivid memory of recently dueling and defeating an older, twisted version of this boy flashed through his mind.

Maybe that was why his voice refused to cooperate. The snake-like abomination he'd just banished from the earth looked nothing like this boy who, even as he watched, settled on the ground in the opposite corner of the yard, opening the thick book he'd brought outside.

Common sense finally made itself heard over the raging headache and manhandled his Gryffindor impulsiveness to the back of his brain. Harry forced himself to relax and his brain to think rationally. This was Tom Riddle, not Voldemort. Voldemort had committed many crimes; Tom Riddle had not. He was a power hungry, bullying child, but a child none the less. This boy was not yet a murderer, not yet guilty of anything even close to deserving a death sentence. Killing Tom now would make him no better than the wizards he'd devoted most of his wizarding life to fight against.

Harry exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He was tired, injured, and in an unknown location. He didn't even know if he'd simply traveled through time or if this was a separate dimension altogether. Attacking a child in cold blood was most likely not in his best interests.

And Harry was so tired of killing.

But sitting here and watching his recently-dead-now-twelve-year-old nemesis read a book was not solving any of his immediate problems. He needed a pain reliever, shelter, and information. Preferably in that order.

With a sigh of half pain and half frustration, Harry Potter slipped away from the fence and began limping down the street, hoping to find someone or something that could provide him with answers.

Two long weeks later, he was back.


	2. The Adoption

**Disclaimer: **Everything you recognize belongs to Rowling.

**AN:** Thank you ever so much for the reviews! It's very easy to say I write for the fun of it, which is true, but a display of interest in the writing is always encouraging.

This story is not going to be all that long, maybe ten chapters. It will focus mostly on Tom and Harry's relationship.

The Adoption

OoOoO

Harry stood just outside the orphanage gates, staring at the dingy building.

Two weeks had passed since his arrival, and he'd been unable to get the place out of his mind. Two whole weeks of orienting himself to this time and place, reviewing recent history, beginning to establish himself in the Magical community… and all that time his mind stubbornly refused to leave this rundown Muggle orphanage and the single young wizard who lived here. He could almost swear he was under a compulsion of some sort.

A woman bustled by in front of him, temporarily blocking his view. The child clinging to her hand stared at him as they passed. Harry shifted uncomfortably and adjusted his cap. He'd bought new clothes, Muggle and Magical alike, but from the looks he was getting his 1938 fashion sense was about as accurate as that of the average 1990's wizard's understanding of Muggle attire.

His eyes flickered between the retreating child and the orphanage. The boy looked back over his shoulder once and their eyes locked for a split second before mother and son turned a corner, taking them out of sight. Harry drew a deep breath.

He had killed Tom Riddle once; he could do it again. But he'd be damned if he weren't going to run through every other option he could possibly think up first. Hopefully his luck would hold out long enough to keep this newest bout of Gryffindor impulsiveness from coming back to haunt him.

He stepped forward. The gate squealed loudly as he pushed it open.

OoOoO

"So his school is going to a year round schedule, are they?"

"Yes."

"Odd, that is. Then again, what about that boy isn't?" Mrs. Cole, the orphanage matron, eyed Harry suspiciously. "Why are you taking him now, when he just got back?"

Harry grit his teeth, wishing rather uncharitably that woman would go for her whiskey so her senses would be dulled a bit. Compulsion charms worked better when the person wasn't thinking straight in the first place.

"The timing of it is a bit off, I know. Things weren't finalized until the end of last week." He was lying through his teeth. Harry told himself yet again that it would be worth it if he could prevent Voldemort from ever existing and pushed aside his guilt at this blatant use of magical manipulation. It wasn't as difficult to do as it probably should have been; this woman was quite aggravating.

"Why are you adopting him, again?"

"Because the school board feels it would be better for Tom to have a specific guardian figure aside from his teachers." Lie. Bad lie, at that. Adopting Tom in the Muggle world meant he didn't have to do it in the magical one, where his severe lack of background could not be worked around with nearly so much ease. Easier in this case was most certainly better. Harry poured more of his will into the charm.

Mrs. Cole's eyes glazed a bit. "Well," she said slowly, "This is very odd, you know, but I suppose it's is all in order. I'll just have Mary call Tom in."

Harry nodded, but did not relax. Convincing the orphanage matron was no doubt not the hard part.

Harry fidgeted through the next few minutes while Mrs. Cole yelled for one of her helpers and sent her to fetch Tom. It took an inordinate amount of time for the two to show up in the doorway, time which Harry spent picking at a loose thread on his cuff and taking off his cap and running a hand through his hair and putting his cap back on and twisting it this way and that as it simply would not sit right. Stupid old fashioned Muggle clothes.

Finally, there was a light rap on the door. Twelve year old Tom Riddle entered, looking wary. Harry darted glances at him while Mrs. Cole explained Harry's lie, and did not try to stop him from drawing the obvious conclusion, that the story was untrue and Mrs. Cole's eyes were glazed as though she had been drinking again, though there were no open bottles on the desk.

When Mrs. Cole's prattle tapered off, Harry looked up, meeting Tom stare for stare. He held his hand low, out of the Muggle woman's sight, and let the tip of his wand slip out of his sleeve. Tom's eyes widened and he looked back up sharply.

"Dumbledore sent you."

"No. He doesn't even know me."

"Did Professor Slughorn send you, then?" A hint of smug hope there. How Slytherins managed to pour smugness into an emotion like hope was something Harry did not think he would ever understand.

"No. I'm not here to represent any specific Hogwarts house."

Tom scoffed.

"It's true," Harry insisted, "I never even attended it. I grew up elsewhere, and came here just recently when I learned that no one was living on the family grounds."

And what a surprise that discovery had been. Apparently he'd managed to travel not just through time, but to a parallel dimension, where the Potter family had died off about eighty years ago, leaving the family grounds empty.

There were other differences between his world and this one, once he started to look. World War Two had already ended here, for instance, while he was almost sure that in his home dimension it lasted into the early 1940's. The amount of research he'd done in the past two weeks, looking for other differences he could take advantage of, would have made Hermione proud.

Harry drew a deep breath. He'd have to be careful with his wording, with Mrs. Cole sitting right there. "I'm of the opinion that someone like you should not be in an orphanage, especially now that you've started learning to put your talents into practice. Certain people might not agree with me, but I think you deserve to live with someone who has a bit more insight into the way of life you've inherited. My house isn't huge, but…" he cast a pointed glance around the dingy office, very carefully not looking at the orphanage matron. Hopefully she wouldn't be too insulted since he was trying to get Tom off her hands for good.

Tom looked a bit more interested now, though no less suspicious. "How do I know you're not going to just kidnap me as soon as we're away from the orphanage?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Would I be going to all the trouble of adopting you and leaving an obvious paper trail if I planned on disappearing with you? All they have to do is ask Mrs. Cole to know I've been here, and I've been to Gringott's several times. They have my name and address." He spread his hands sarcastically. "I'd offer to take Veritaserum, but..."

"And what's in it for you?"

"Gives me someone to share the house with. The place is too quiet with just me there."

Tom said nothing, staring at him in exaggerated but unfeigned disbelief. Harry crossed his arms, settling them across his chest with a huff.

"Fine. You're an orphan and you're in Slytherin, which means you've got something to prove and the drive to do it. I'd be an idiot to know that and leave you in a place like this." He cocked a sarcastic eyebrow. "Is that answer more to your liking?"

Tom's shoulders grew a little less tense.

"I'm still going to my school."

"Of course."

"Would I take your name?"

"If you want to. Or you could add it to your own. There's no reason to get rid of the name your mother gave you."

Tom's eyes sharpened at the hint of knowledge about his own family history and he stared at Harry as though the older wizard was dangling a carrot and Tom couldn't see the expected stick.

"The Potters are Pureblood?"

He would want to know that.

"They were, yes."

Either Tom didn't hear Harry's use of past tense or he chose to ignore it. "I don't know of anyone else at school who has two last names."

Harry said nothing. He supposed that in this time having two last names would not be as common as it was back home. Tom nodded sharply. "I'll come with you." Then under his breath, "Tom Marvolo Riddle-Potter." There was a calculating look in his eyes that did nothing to calm Harry's nerves.

OoOoO

They appeared just inside the property gates of the Potter grounds of Godric's Hollow, nothing more than a soft crack heralding their arrival. Harry had gotten quite good at apparation over the last year.

He cast a levitation charm on the trunk resting between them and stepped forward. His feet crunched over the gravel on the long drive and he could easily hear Tom following after him. Thick trees surrounded them, casting dappled shadows and blocking the view of the main property from passers-by on the Muggle road that lay on the other side of the gate behind them.

There were no weeds to trip them up; Harry had spent a good deal of the previous day clearing the overgrown lane. They rounded a bend shortly and the house came in to view.

Harry slanted a glance at the boy following him but there was no expression on Tom's face. Harry shifted his gaze back to the approaching house.

It had stood empty for nearly eighty years. The grounds were a mess, and the exterior needed a new coat of paint, but the interior was in relatively good condition. The last occupant left some excellent semi-permanent housekeeping charms in place. It would have saved Harry a lot of work if they'd kept the exterior in such good condition.

"Welcome to Godrick's Hollow."

They stepped onto the porch, Harry absently reminding himself that it needed to be re-stained. "I haven't been in the house very long so it still needs some work," he explained as he unlocked the door and led Tom inside. The trunk settled to the floor with a slight bang. Harry was still getting used to his new wand. It was much too dangerous to use his old one here, not if he was to live with someone whose wand had a brother core to his own.

Harry hung his coat on a hook by the door, gladly hanging up his hat as well. He didn't like the thing, but it had not taken him long to figure out that in this time a hat was nearly as essential to a public wardrobe, especially in the wizarding world, as shoes.

He turned to his new permanent house guest. Tom had taken off his coat as well. Harry took it from him and hung it by his own. He needn't have bothered; Tom was not all that much shorter than Harry. Harry never did get much taller than the lower end of average, even after the significant growth spurt he had just before sixth year, and Tom had apparently always been tall.

"This is the living room." Obviously. He gestured to the open door on the right. "That's the kitchen." He spun left and pointed at the hallway. "Dining room, library and toilet. There're also stairs down to the basement. It's set up to be a Potions lab but there's nothing much in it right now."

Harry re-levitated the trunk and mounted the stairs. Tom followed. "Storage room and stairs to the owlry." He pointed to the two doors just to the right of the landing. Harry had gone to a good deal of effort to make sure it looked like a storage room and nothing like the nursery that he could equate with nothing but green light and his Mother's pleas.

He stepped off the stairs and turned left, moving down the bare hallway. "The loo. And our rooms. This one is yours." He pushed open the door on their right and stepped back to let Tom go in. The boy took in the simple furnishings without comment. Harry shifted, uncomfortable.

The house was by no means a mansion. Tom's room was not large or small – not elegant, but not as bare as Dudley's second bedroom. It was certainly nicer than the orphanage, but nowhere near as opulent as what a rich Pureblood family would have. It was just an average room, probably deserving little more than a mediocre response. Still, Tom's lack of reaction was a bit disconcerting. He thought he might prefer a derisive comment to the silence.

Harry wanted out of this room, away from this boy. He let Tom's trunk settle to the floor just inside the door, taking a bit more care than normal. "I'll let you get settled in, then. Dinner will be ready in half an hour."

OoOoO

True to his word, Harry was just finishing a simple dinner when Tom strolled into the kitchen half an hour later.

Tom sat down at the mostly set table without a word or offer of help, which Harry ignored in favor of making sure the mashed potatoes were salted just right. Tom eyed his preparations disdainfully. "No house elves?"

Harry pulled two glasses and plates from an overhead cupboard, sending the plates to the table with a flick of his wrist. "No. I guess they went to other relatives. Whatever was left of the family."

The potatoes were done. Rather than bend down to get a serving dish from the bottom cupboard, Harry flipped it open with his foot and stretched a hand toward the minimal pile of dishes within, carefully levitating the one he wanted from the middle of a stack. He set it on the counter and began transferring the potatoes with a large spoon.

"This doesn't look much like a Pureblood manor." Tom sounded accusing, as though Harry had tricked him. He should have asked more specific questions if he wanted to make sure he was being adopted by someone with a ridiculous amount of money to his name, Harry thought but didn't say.

Instead he took a deep breath to control his temper and summoned the milk jug, pouring two glasses full before sending it back. "I told you the house wasn't that large. And there is a manor on the grounds. You can see it from the owlery, over the trees on the other side of the field."

"There is a manor? Why aren't we living in it?"

Harry didn't trust his voice not to betray his anger and so settled for carrying the potatoes the short distance to the table, nabbing the two glasses of milk from the counter with another wandless spell. He set all three carefully onto the table.

"It's too big, and mostly empty. All the furniture left in it is junk." There _was_ one very nice piano. But, as he didn't play, he did not think it was worth the trouble of attempting to undo whatever spell had stuck the thing to the floor. "I figured it was better to just leave it closed up for now."

Harry lowered himself into his chair carefully, keeping a hand on the table edge just in case. Fortunately for his pride he made it down easily, the flare of pain in his knee minimal.

About two months before the so called Final Battle the Golden Trio was caught in one of the Death Eater's more successful ambushes. None of them walked away from that particular confrontation unscathed, though they had managed to destroy a Horcrux so the escapade wasn't a complete loss. Harry had been hit with a dark curse that did some particularly nasty things to the ligaments and tendons in and around his left knee.

The healers gave him two rules for a fast recovery: limit his physical activity and stay as far away from dark magic as possible, and his knee should be good as new inside a few months. The final confrontation with Voldemort was a direct violation of both rules, and the little trip through time hadn't helped things any.

Not that any of that was any excuse for showing weakness in front of Tom Riddle.

"And my family _was _Pureblood. I think. Like I told you, there was no one living on the grounds. The last known British Potter died about eighty years ago. To my knowledge I'm the only one left. That's probably why you've never heard the name. I don't much care about the whole business beyond the fact that I'm apparently Potter enough to pass Gringott's blood and magical signature tests to claim what's left of the inheritance."

"What's left of it? Couldn't they manage their money properly?"

Was Tom being this rude deliberately? Harry eyed the haughtily smooth expression. Of course he was. "I'm sure they managed it just fine and weren't idiots enough to set much aside for an heir that might not even exist."

Harry picked up his fork, from a cheap set bought at a second hand store in Diagon Alley, and began dishing up. The Potter inheritance vault in Gringott's actually contained an expensive looking silver set that he'd taken with him, but he would first have to find out how to remove the finger-biting hex. The box of cutlery nearly took off half his fingers before he managed to subdue the silverware.

He'd actually found several useful things in the inheritance vault, set aside for the traditional Hundred Year Wait just in case an heir bearing the Potter name did turn up. The best find was, by far, the deed to Potter Manor, Godric's Hollow and the grounds surrounding the two houses. The stash of wands left by his ancestors was another useful find. Of course he'd only taken one, leaving his own in its place.

"How old are you, anyway?"

Harry started. They had been eating in silence for several minutes and he'd thought the questions were over for now.

"Er… almost eighteen?"

Tom stared openly. "You look a lot older."

"Thanks," said Harry sarcastically. Then, to keep Tom from growing overly suspicious even though he'd have loved to just make the little brat live with his curiosity, "I was in a magical accident not that long ago. I think it aged me a few years. I'm not really sure how old my body is now. Not that much older than I was, I don't think. Actually it's possible I haven't aged at all. It's probably the gray that makes me look older." He realized he'd begun to babble and hurriedly stuffed another bite of food into his mouth to shut himself up, running a self-conscious hand through his hair.

He'd gotten a shock the first time he looked in a mirror upon his arrival in this place. His hair had gone nearly as grey as Remus Lupin's. It stood out more on his black hair than it had on Remus' sandy brown, too. There was a patch of pure white hair at his left temple, one of the most visible side effects of his efforts in the Final Battle. It made it him look a good five to ten years older. He wasn't sure how long he had stood there gaping at himself. It was a good thing no one else was around as he was sure he'd looked like a complete pillock.

Tom was still staring at him. "What?" Harry snapped, aggravated. His appearance was currently a sore subject.

"You're barely five years older than me."

"So?"

"_So,_ you're not nearly old enough to be my parent!"

That took Harry aback. "I know," he said, gathering a bit of calm, "I… wasn't really expecting you to think of me that way, to be honest." Tom's face was growing no less clouded. Harry took a deep breath. "I was hoping… maybe, you could think of me as, as a brother, or something, in time." He was going to regret that admission. This was Tom Riddle, the epitome of Slytherin. A person did not just up and tell him something like that.

But he needed at least a margin of trust from Tom if his plan, sketchy though it was, would work.

Tom was eyeing him warily, now. "Why?"

"I told you. A Muggle orphanage is no place for a wizard. And because…" He stopped himself. He hadn't really answered the question, but… there was no way he was going to tell Tom what he'd been about to say. That he would give anything for a family, including opening his home to his former worst enemy and the murderer of his parents. Merlin, he was messed up.

He lifted his head, staring Tom in the eye. Being so blunt about this topic went against every instinct he had, but in this, Harry was sure, Tom would pick up on any untruth and Harry couldn't have that. He needed Tom's trust if this was going to work, if this foolishly Gryffindor plan to keep Tom from going bad in the worst way had any chance of succeeding. "I know what it's like live with people who just don't understand magic or magical people. It's a miserable way to grow up." Especially after the taste of freedom Hogwarts offered. His mouth twisted wryly. "There was no way I could leave you to go through the same thing." His first solution to that problem had been to kill Tom, but that was something the kid did _not _need to know.

Tom sneered. "How touching. I'm a charity case."

Harry jerked. "No you aren't!" No, Tom was anything but that. He couldn't exactly explain his full intentions in this case, though.

"I don't need a family." Tom continued, spitting the last word as if it tasted foul in his mouth, and Harry felt his heart sink a bit. Still, he'd been expecting this. He could deal with it. He had time, for once.

"Well it's not like I'm going to force you to want one."

Tom didn't believe him. Harry was not surprised. He sighed. "Just… give it a chance. Stay the rest of the summer. If you're truly miserable you can always go back after your next year at Hogwarts."

Tom went back to his meal without deigning to reply.

OoOoO

**End Chapter**

And we have the grand meeting, which perhaps wasn't quite as dramatic as it could have been, but was hopefully interesting none the less.

Edit: Beta version up 11-27-06.


	3. Diagon Alley

**Disclaimer: **There are two of these posted in this story already, so from here on out I don't think it will be necessary to say that everything you recognize belongs to Rowling.

**AN:** Thank you to all the people who reviewed or added this story to their C2's and favorites. You guys made my day!

Diagon Alley

OoOoO

Harry took a deep breath of the early morning air, enjoying the light breeze that blew through the owlery. He leaned against the waist high railing; the tail end of the sunrise staining the sky a light pink. It was quiet.

It made Harry restless.

He had a spectacular view of the field that separated the house from Potter Manor. From here he could see part of the empty manor's upper story and its sloping roof over the tops of the trees. To his left, he could just make out the village of Godric's Hollow.

The Potter grounds were located in the middle of a small forest nearly one mile down the road from the village. About three acres of forest land had been cleared for the manor, house and the sizable field between them. The smaller of the two houses was located on the south end of the property, hidden out of sight of both manor and the Muggle road by its own little groove of trees.

Harry looked down. The ground wasn't that far away, really- the house was only two stories so this 'tower' was but three stories up.

The air in the tiny owlery smelled fresh, despite the stains from wet, moldy hay and owl droppings that marked the floor. A small bird nest was tucked up in the rafters, smears of white bird droppings all over the floor beneath it, but the nest must be old because the open room was otherwise empty. Harry did not have an owl; Hedwig was left behind and he really had no need for another one just yet.

Not for the first time, Harry found himself growing lonely.

The possibility of going back still nagged at him, of course. Maybe, if there was no body, his friends would think he was still alive and try to find him, but Harry did not think they would be able to. And he wasn't sure he could return even if they did. He could not, in good conscious, bring Tom Riddle to a world just freed from Voldemort, if it was even possible to bring the boy with him. Neither could he leave him here. Maybe it was just his "saving people thing" again, but how could he leave this place when he had a chance to prevent Lord Voldemort from ever existing?

So he hoped, for his friends' sakes, that he left behind a body. It would be better for his friends to know without a doubt that he was dead.

At least Hermione had the foresight to make all three of them write up wills. Unsettling as the activity was, Harry was glad she'd made them do it. He didn't want all his things to go to the ministry or something. It would have been very nice to have some of it here, of course. The pile of coins in the inheritance vault was not nearly as large as what Sirius alone left to him back home.

Harry shook himself. He'd come up here to make himself feel better, not worse. He set a critical eye across the grounds again.

That patch of field over to the left would be a perfect spot for a home style Quidditch pitch.

He leant further forward, examining the area. Yes, it was perfect. All he needed to do was get the goal hoops. He could make them from transfigured tree branches or something. And then... what then? Harry sighed and cast his gaze downward again. The bushes under the owlery still needed tending to. They were overgrown and weeds had choked out any flowers that might have once been planted around them.

Merlin, he needed a broom. He missed flying; it never failed to clear his head. His Firebolt had not been on his person in the final battle, and thus was one of the many things he left behind. Using it here would have been too dangerous anyway, he thought bitterly.

Harry bent nearly double over the railing, just staring at the ground. If he unfocused his eyes just so the ground almost looked like it was spinning, like it did when he went into a steep dive after the snitch. He felt a sudden upwards push as he activated the wards designed to keep anyone from falling off the tower. He eased back up until the pressure disappeared again.

Harry straightened a bit, rebuking himself. There was no need to be acting so glum. He could buy himself a new broom. And the money in the vault was more than enough to support them for now, so long as he was careful and didn't waste it on something stupid like a dozen sets of dress robes or something.

Eventually he would need to find a job, but it wasn't urgent. Which was good, because Harry had very little idea what he would do. He had no background; in this place there wasn't even any proof that he had taken his O.W.L.'s. Being an Auror was definitely no longer a possibility.

He shoved harshly away from the railing. He'd worry about it later, once Tom was back at Hogwarts and he needed something to do. For now, fixing up the place and looking after Tom was more than enough work.

OoOoO

Harry was downstairs working on breakfast when a scuffle came from the doorway behind him. He jerked and nearly pulled his wand on the intruder before he realized it must be Tom. He turned around a bit sheepishly. It hadn't taken him long to get used to living alone in a silent house. "Morning, Tom."

"Good morning," Tom greeted, not sounding at all groggy. Harry turned back to breakfast. A chair scraped loudly across the floor as Tom sat down. Like the night before, he made no offer to help.

"I figured we could go to Diagon Alley today, if you'd like." Harry picked up a fork and began flipping the bacon over.

"What for?" Tom sounded a bit suspicious. Tom had yet to sound anything but suspicious so this was not that big of a surprise.

"I need a new broom. Couldn't bring my old one with me and not being able to fly is driving me barmy. And I don't know if you've looked in the library yet but there isn't much there." Only a handful of books from the family vault kept the shelves from being completely bare. "And, er, I figured you'd want some summer clothes." Tom was wearing his Hogwarts uniform, minus the outer robe, in favor of his orphanage clothes. Harry figured Tom would be as eager to get rid of those as Harry was his Dudley castoffs.

He glanced over his shoulder. Tom's face had a distinctly greedy cast to it. "I'll take that as a yes, then," Harry muttered, and began dishing up breakfast.

OoOoO

Harry dropped into a chair at the ice cream parlor, struggling a bit with his new broom. Perhaps he should have waited to visit the Quidditch store. Shrinking and lightening charms tended to interfere with the complex set of spells needed to create a wizard's broom and so it was a bit ungainly to carry around. Across from him Tom was having no trouble with his own magically lightened bags. By some miracle Harry managed to set his ice cream down without spilling it or knocking anything over. He sat and set everything else on the ground.

The instant the first bite of peppermint and chocolate hit his tongue Harry felt himself beginning to relax.

He sighed and settled back in his chair, stretching out the knee which had begun aching halfway through their third stop. The ice cream break was as much to let him get off his feet as it was a chance to refuel for the last stop of the day: the bookstore.

Tom, Harry had discovered, was nearly impossible to buy for.

It wasn't because he was overly picky. He was, however, extraordinarily suspicious. One minute Harry was apparently treating him like a slave boy because he refused to buy Tom dress robes and the next Harry was trying to bribe him over by offering something expensive like a broom. Harry was hanging on to his temper by a bare thread before they were even halfway done.

And to think he'd have to do this all over again when it was time to come back for school supplies. Ugh.

There was a newspaper sitting on the empty table beside them. Harry caught a glimpse of the headline and summoned the paper to take a closer look. He didn't mind reading the paper so much now that he wasn't likely to see his own name in it.

**_Grindelwald's Continued Silence: a Feint or the Finish? _**was plastered across the top with the subtitle **_Three Likely Locations of his Next Target. _**

"Has he done anything else yet?" Tom asked, with an eager note to his voice that Harry carefully ignored, reminding himself for the umpteenth time that day that Diagon Alley was not the place for an argument. He refolded the paper and set it beside his ice cream so he could eat and read at the same time.

"Doesn't look like it. It's been over three months since his last attack in France. They think the next hit is going to be a big one." Harry skimmed further down the page. "Still continuing the style of guerrilla warfare he's used since the end of the Muggle World War… look for wizards disguised as leftover Nazi extremists… authorities don't think he's gone just because there've been fewer attacks… Diagon Alley's listed as one of the most likely locations for his next hit."

"Really?" Tom shifted in his seat excitedly. "Maybe he'll attack today. I wonder if we'll see him."

Harry stabbed his spoon into his ice cream. "Not likely. If he's going to attack Diagon then he'll wait till next month when people are doing their back to school shopping and any nerves in the general public caused by this article have died down. There's no guarantee the next hit will even be in England, though. He could go after a country on the continent again."

Tom looked disappointed. For a moment Harry wanted to hex him. He settled for mutilating his ice cream instead.

OoOoO

Harry wandered idly down the isles, eyes skimming over the books, broom and bags clutched in his left fist. When he thought no one was looking, he ducked into a certain section and began scanning titles quickly.

If anyone caught him, he could act like he was looking for a book for a mother or sister or something.

_Twenty Tips for the Perfect Hostess. _No. _Cooking Tricks for the New Mother. _No way was he going to own a book that specifically referenced girls in the title._ Basic Home Cleaning Charms . _He picked this one up and flipped through it quickly, then put it back. Close, but not quite varied enough. _Encyclopedia of Household Spells. _Aha. This looked promising. He flipped to the table of contents. There were spells for use in the kitchen… laundry and linens… owlery upkeep…it even had a section on charms for exterior home care. Perfect.

Harry tucked the largish book under his elbow. He turned, more than ready to escape to a more manly section of the store, just as a woman stepped into the isle.

There was something vaguely familiar about her, as if she was a memorable stranger he'd passed on the street months before.

"Mrs. Prince!"

Harry stiffened as an elderly lady greeted the woman. Merlin. He sent the woman a second, studious glance. This was not Snape's mother; she could not be that old at this point. His grandmother, then?

"And is this little Eileen?" the second lady cooed over an infant in the woman's arms.

"Yes, she's five months old in two days," Mrs. Prince stated proudly. Harry had heard enough. He turned tail and fled the isle.

That situation had felt much too surreal. He dreaded what would happen when he met someone he actually did know.

He felt marginally better when he entered the Quidditch section. It was smaller than the one in his time, and many of the titles were different, but Harry didn't care. He selected one about _Modern Quidditch Teams and Tactics _and the 1938 edition of _Quidditch Through the Ages _and continued on.

He found Tom in the Defense Section with a sizable pile of books on the floor beside him.

He crouched to read the titles, occasionally nodding in approval. He'd never heard of most of them, which was to be expected, but those he did recognize were good books if his memory were accurate. Still, he'd be looking through them all for anything… unsavory before he let Tom actually read them.

He set down his broom since it didn't look like Tom would be moving from the isle any time soon and dropped his three selections beside them. He stood and strolled down the isle, pulling off books and skimming their contents, keeping the ones that looked promising. When his arms were full he strolled back up to his self appointed charge.

He was a bit bored but he figured having a good number of books around the house would keep Tom busy for the summer. If he were reading he'd be less inclined to go looking for ways to make trouble, right?

He dumped his pile next to Tom's. The kid seemed agitated by his presence, so he wandered off toward the Charms section. He stopped halfway when a book he recognized caught his eye. It was a rather spectacular book, in that Hermione had insisted he read it, and he eventually had, and he'd actually found it useful. Such a sequence of events was rare, almost never getting past the stage of _"Honestly, haven't you read such and such book yet?" _Harry grabbed a copy of the book and took it back to Tom.

"You read this one?"

Tom cast a glance at the cover and curled a disdainful lip.

"No."

Harry held it out. "It'd be a good idea to get it, then."

"I don't need to read it."

"You probably know most of the stuff in it, yeah, but it does cover some of the more obscure wizard traditions that no one talks about. The kind that you won't have heard of until it comes up in a conversation someday and you make a fool of yourself for not knowing it." Tom's stubborn expression did not budge. Harry rolled his eyes. "Better off prepared than trying to work out what the heck they're talking about on the fly, right?" He dropped it on the growing pile and walked away before Tom could protest. He'd make sure it was still there when they paid.

OoOoO

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace just in time to see Tom disappear up the stairs to his room, no doubt to fawn over all his new things. Harry was glad he'd made Tom go through first because he wasn't quite able to hide his wince upon landing hard on his bad knee. Madam Pomfrey would have him tied to a hospital bed if she knew how much activity he'd been doing lately despite the fact that he was still "recovering". But Madam Pomfrey wasn't here, and Harry was perfectly capable of dealing with a little pain.

Harry banished his personal purchases up to his room and took the numerous bags from Flourish and Blotts to the library. He could organize and shelve the books while sitting.

OoOoO

Several hours later Harry stepped away from the living room fireplace with his arms crossed and eyed the mantle. He nodded in satisfaction. Two wizarding photos sat in a pair of frames he'd bought that day, a simple charm bracelet centered between them. Bright early evening sunlight glinted off the frames, dazzling Harry's eyes. He shifted to the side a bit to lessen the glare.

In the first picture Harry, Ron and Hermione sat together in Ron's bedroom pouring over a pile of books. The photo trio sat flipping through endless pages, searching for information on Horcruxes and how to destroy them, never looking up expect to speak to each other. More specifically, Harry and Ron looked at Hermione while she explained certain concepts or told the boys where to look next. The second picture was a snapshot of Harry and Ginny setting up tables for Bill and Fleur's wedding reception.

Harry had taken to carrying the pictures with him everywhere back home. As a result, they were a bit tattered, and there was a permanent smudge of dirt over the book Hermione held. Harry didn't much care.

There was one more picture that he always had with him, but it wasn't on the mantle. It was from the photo album Hagrid gave him, a picture of himself as a baby with his parents. Unfortunately, it was taken in Hogsmeade, and Hogwarts was visible in the background. So he couldn't display it, not when his parents had supposedly never even been to England. It was tucked into a corner of the vault where no one would find it but he could still go look at it if he ever felt a particular longing to.

Harry stepped forward, close enough to run his fingers along the white chess king on the charm bracelet. This was Ron's piece, hung on the bracelet between Hermione's book and Harry's broom. The bracelet was a variation of the Weasley family clock, charmed by Hermione, of course. They each had a copy, set to flash different colors to indicate different situations instead of hands swinging around a clockface.

The spells tracking Ron and Hermione stopped working when Harry left their time, so Harry set the charms to a slightly different use. He smiled at the only bit of home he had to show and stepped back to eye the rest of the room. It was nothing but bare walls, mostly empty bookcases and old or cheap furniture, but he looked at it all with satisfaction.

There wasn't much here, but it was all his.

OoOoO

Harry knocked on the doorframe of Tom's room. The twelve year old was sitting in the middle of his bed, reading, occasionally running his fingers over the new bedspread Harry had bought for him earlier that day. Everything was put up or put away; there was not a shopping bag in sight.

"How d'you like it?" Harry asked, nodding at the bed.

Tom lifted his eyes but not his head. "It's all right. The ones at Hogwarts are better, but this one is preferable to that." He pointed at the old, slightly worn but perfectly serviceable comforter that had been on his bed before. Harry's jaw clenched angrily.

He did not want or expect gratitude from Tom Riddle. Not the least little bit.

Right.

He summoned the comforter and got hit with a face full of cloth. Disentangling himself, he tossed the pile on the floor in the hall. He'd stuff it in a closet later.

The attempted polite approach hadn't worked, so he'd just go for bluntness.

"I'm tired, Tom, so I'd like some help with dinner tonight."

"You want me to cook?" Tom sounded absolutely scandalized. "That's for house elves and, and _servants_!"

Bloody irritating rude little brat!

"Do I like look like a house elf?" Harry demanded, "In case you hadn't noticed, we are the only two people living here, which means we are the only two people who can prepare food. I am not going to be preparing every meal of every day by myself." He'd gotten plenty of that at the Dursley's, thankyouverymuch. "Which means you are going to help occasionally."

"I suppose you're going to tell me to wash my own clothes and things, too? Scrub the toilets? There are spells for things like that! Don't you know anything about being a wizard?"

"Oh, I know plenty about how Pureblood wizards live." Because that was obviously the wizards Tom was referring to. "And most of them are pompous, arrogant inbred prats who couldn't survive one day without a wand."

Tom snarled. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Fine!" Harry yelled, tired and fed up after the long day and beyond caring about keeping his temper._ He _would have been very happy if someone had taken him from the Durselys' after his first year at Hogwarts and given him his own room and bought him clothes. He would be plenty grateful enough to help out a bit. And it wasn't like he was asking for much, just a hand in the kitchen, but _no._ "You know where the kitchen is. When you get hungry, feel free to come down and get something!" There. Harry wasn't keeping Tom from the food. If he wasn't going to help Harry with dinner, he could make his own.

"I'm no Muggle!" Tom yelled, "I'm not going to do any cooking!"

Harry stomped down to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. When he got there he jerked the refrigerator open, stared at the contents for a moment, then slammed it shut again. He slumped over the counter and let his head drop forward. Barely a day and they'd had their first yelling match. He groaned and rubbed at his forehead. He had a pounding headache.

"This is going to be a nightmare."

OoOoO

**Chapter End**

This chapter had a bit of a rocky start. Harry and Tom were supposed to have a nice little argument over breakfast but apparently neither of them was in the mood. In fact, it took all day before they were finally tired enough to lose their tempers and even then the subject wasn't the one I had planned. Stubborn pair.

Next chapter is going to be fun; Harry "meets" someone else he knew in his time.

Edit: Beta version up 11-27-06.


	4. An Unexpected Guest

**AN:** This chapter marks the end of the "set up" phase. After this, all the important plot points should be hinted at if not introduced outright and things between Tom and Harry should start to progress at a faster pace.

* * *

Early Thursday, the cooling charms on the house's south facing windows failed. By mid-morning, all the rooms on that side of the house were sweltering. Harry grabbed his _Encyclopedia of Household Spells _and headed outside to set about fixing them.

Two hours later he was still outside, and in a very poor mood.

Harry snarled wordlessly at the book clenched in his hand. The six pages that covered cooling charms were crinkled from two hours of being clutched in his sweaty fist, but he had absolutely nothing to show for his morning in the sweltering July sun. Useless book. He tossed the thing to the ground. It bounced and skidded to a stop several meters away, open and face down. Several of the pages were likely bent. Harry didn't care. He turned his glare from the book back to the house.

None of the spells listed for diagnosis of this particular problem had turned up a thing. Re-charming the windows without getting rid of any lingering shards of the old spell first could cause him even bigger problems, like windows that shattered with the next drastic weather change.

Harry wanted very badly to use a blasting hex on the nearest tree.

Instead, he raked his fingers over his scalp forcefully and went to retrieve the book. He brushed off the dirt and smoothed out the bent pages, closing the book and squeezing the covers together in an attempt to get rid of some of the creases. He wondered if there was a charm for that. He'd have to check. He opened the book again. The pages flopped open to the cooling charms section.

Harry stared at the text for a moment, not really reading it. He could most likely quote the section by heart at this point. Merlin, he sounded like Hermione. His eyes refocused on the book abruptly. He snapped it shut. There was nothing there he hadn't already read.

Deciding that heat and hunger were making him irritable he stomped inside to get himself a sandwich and something cold to drink. He'd go check the library after lunch to see if any of the other books they bought two days ago had anything more useful in them. He doubted it. Both current residents of Godric's Hollow were partial to Defense Against the Dark Arts; after choosing all they wanted on that subject there was very little money in his pocket for anything else.

* * *

Harry had just finished his meal when someone knocked on the front door. He frowned. No one but Gringotts and the orphanage had this address and the old Muggle-repelling spells were fully functional when he'd examined them just after moving in.

Tom, who had come in halfway through Harry's lunch with a book on _Curses and Charms to Repel and Attract Dark Creatures _in hand, glanced up from his own mostly eaten sandwich but made no move to answer the door.

Tom still refused to help Harry cook, or to do any chores whatsoever. However, after missing dinner the night of their argument and breakfast the next morning, he snuck into the kitchen when Harry wasn't in the house and made himself lunch. The clatter of dishes carried easily through the partially open window to Harry in the back yard. Harry let himself grin when Tom yelped and began to curse about manic silverware. Whoops. Perhaps he should have left that set elsewhere until he got rid of the biting hex.

Or perhaps not. It was, after all, much more entertaining to let Tom figure it out for himself.

Harry didn't say anything to Tom about it. Instead, with a smug sense of self satisfaction, he made dinner for them both that evening.

That wasn't to say that they hadn't found dozens of other ways to drive each other crazy in the interim.

The doorbell rang a second time. Tom turned a page of his book and kept reading.

Irritated, Harry stood. He wobbled and steadied himself on the back of a chair, letting go the moment he had his balance back. Damn his bloody knee anyway. It should be getting better by now, but Harry could almost swear it was slightly worse. Maybe he should take a few days break from his work cleaning up the grounds. He stalked from the room, trying not to feel Tom's dark eyes watching him leave.

He slipped through the living room, holding his wand down by his thigh and slightly behind him.

Harry didn't know who he was expecting to be on the other side of the door, but the familiar pair of twinkling blue eyes gazing down at him with grandfatherly kindness was like a douse of cold water and for one panicked moment, Harry froze.

There were very few people from his own time that Harry had to worry about running into. Albus Dumbledore was one of those few. But Harry had no plans to go to Hogwarts any time soon; he hadn't thought he would need to worry about seeing his once dead mentor for some time.

He barely caught it when the Professor began to speak.

"Good afternoon. Would you be Mr. Harry Potter?"

A hand grabbed his heart and yanked. Somehow his voice wasn't affected.

"Er, yes, that's me."

A smile twisted the still red beard. "Excellent. My name is Albus Dumbledore. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter."

"It's, ah, nice to meet you too, sir."

Dumbledore must have taken Harry's hesitation as confusion, because he hastened to explain his presence on the Potter's front porch.

"I am a professor at the school one Mr. Tom Riddle attends. It has just come to our attention that he is no longer at his previous home. I understand he has taken up residence here?" The last was phrased as a question and it snapped Harry out of his stunned stupor.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right." Harry finally remembered his manners. "Would you like to come in?" He stepped back, pulling the door with him, and surreptitiously slipped his wand back into its pocket.

"Yes, thank you." The Transfiguration Professor stepped into the house, scanning the room swiftly. His eyes paused on the _Encyclopedia of Household Spells_ that was sitting on the corner of the coffee table, where Harry had dropped it earlier.

Harry felt his cheeks redden. The book wasn't the only thing left lying around the room. The kitchen was one of the only rooms in the house that he bothered to keep clean. It was simply easier to cook in a clean kitchen, and the dishwashing charm he'd learned made it relatively simple to keep the kitchen tidy. What the _Encyclopedia _apparently lacked in reliable information on cooling charms it made up for in cooking and cleaning spells. Still, that didn't mean Harry wanted anyone else seeing a book obviously meant for housewives and he scolded himself for leaving it in so obvious a location.

He waved his hand at the book, sending it to its place on the shelf by the fireplace, and turned to invite his guest to sit down only to find those piercing blue eyes studying him intently. For a moment Harry wasn't sure why. Once he realized what he'd just done, wandless and wordless magic, he nearly groaned aloud. He'd caught himself casting small wandless spells more and more often lately and had no idea where they were coming from. He had never been proficient in wandless magic before.

The blue gaze drifted upward, towards his forehead, and Harry nearly panicked again. But the man's eyes did not go to his scar. Instead they stopped on the shock of white hair at his temple. Harry turned away before the former-yet-to-be Headmaster could see anything else.

His hair was a bit longer now, which made it no less unruly, but most of the time it did cover his scar completely. He doubted his hairstyle, or lack of one, made any sort of good impression in this time period, but better that than excessive questions about his scar. He didn't want anyone recognizing it for what it was.

He quickly cleared a seat for the Professor, scooping a pile of parchment off one of the ancient armchairs and depositing it on the couch.

"If you want to sit down I'll bring us some tea, Professor," he offered politely, carefully not meeting the man's gaze for more than an instant. Hiding behind formality seemed the best way to go. He could do formality without breaking down into a nervous wreck. He hoped.

Harry slipped into the kitchen, passing Tom at the door. He began assembling a tea tray and listened intently as the future Headmaster and his ward- adoptive son- brother- whatever- exchanged the required pleasantries.

"Tom, how are you, my boy?"

"Quite well, sir." Tom's voice all but oozed cool, reserved politeness.

Harry smiled to himself grimly and tapped the teapot with his wand. Steam shot out of the spout instantly. He was getting better at these; when he tried that spell yesterday he nearly boiled away the entire contents of the pot.

"Good, good. The staff was quite concerned when we learned that you were no longer at the orphanage." Tom didn't answer. "You were adopted, yes?"

"Yes." Tom did a good job of compacting the word _obviously_ into a single syllable.

Harry dumped a small pile of biscuits onto the tray.

"Congratulations." Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard the shortness of Tom's answer. "I am most happy for you. Although I must admit some surprise that you allowed yourself to be taken from the orphanage by an unknown man."

Harry winced. "It all happened a bit quicker than I expected." Harry said as he stepped into the living room, tea tray in hand. He set it down on the coffee table before continuing. "I assumed the school would be notified of the adoption through the orphanage. The paperwork is most likely taking longer than it would in the magical system."

"Why are _you _here, Professor?" Tom cut back in.

"Hogwarts is in the habit of checking up on its students when they have a change in living arrangements, Mr. Riddle."

"Riddle-Potter," Tom corrected sharply. Harry wondered if he should be worried at the spark of warmth that he felt when Tom claimed Harry's name aloud.

"Pardon?"

"It's Riddle-Potter now."

"Ah, yes, of course. My apologies, Mr. Riddle-Potter."

Tom nodded. "Don't forget," he said and abruptly left the room. Harry blinked after him. He'd forgotten how sharp the boy was when speaking with Dumbledore. He didn't speak to Harry that way. Or perhaps Harry had just gotten accustomed enough to it that he no longer noticed when it was directed at him.

As usual, Dumbledore hardly seemed fazed. He fixed himself a cup of tea, waving aside Harry's stuttered offer to do it instead. "It has been quite some time since I've been on the Potter grounds. I must say, this house was not nearly so well protected then. The wards are quite impressive. Did you do them yourself?"

From anyone else, that question would have been downright rude; Harry was pretty sure that such a comment went completely against wizard etiquette. For Dumbledore, though, he didn't mind replying. "Er, no. Not all of them, anyway. Mostly I just did improvements on what was already there. There are a couple more I want to put up but I thought I should get Tom settled in first."

"Ah. Still, impressive."

Harry fidgeted with his teacup. The wards might be impressive, but what kind of wizard was he if he couldn't even fix an old cooling spell?

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry nearly spilled hot tea all over himself.

"I suppose you are curious as to the reason for my presence in your home?"

"Ah, well, I assumed it would be to go over the details of, um… Tom and, er…"

The heat in his face had to be because of sunburn. It just had to be.

Dumbledore smiled.

"I am here to make sure you are aware of the details of Tom's education. Had you been a Muggle, this would, of course, include an introduction to the magical world here in England. Normally his Head of House would do this but as I have had contact with his previous residence Headmaster Dippet sent me. We try to limit the number of magical folk Muggles come into contact with in such situations, you understand."

Harry nodded. He straightened slightly as a thought wound its way past the swirling mess in his head. "Uh, how _did _you know that Tom had been adopted if the orphanage hadn't contacted you yet?"

"A good friend of mine works in Diagon Alley. He is aware that Mr. Riddle-Potter had no known family and was naturally a bit surprised when he saw young Tom on Tuesday with a man he thought looked remarkably like a brother or cousin."

Harry started. He didn't think he and Tom looked that alike. They both had dark hair, but that was where the resemblance ended, right?

"He contacted the school and the Headmaster asked me to speak with Mrs. Cole. Imagine my surprise upon discovering that Tom had been adopted by a man who was, by all available evidence, a wizard, and one going by a name most British wizards thought to be quite gone."

Here Dumbledore fixed Harry with an expectant look.

Harry winced. He did not want to lie. Aside from the fact that this was Dumbledore, a man whose death still stung, he doubted he would be able to put an outright fabrication past any accomplished Legilimens.

He would have to go with the half truth that his explanation to Tom was based upon. Hopefully Dumbledore would not require too many details.

Yeah, right.

Dumbledore shifted and Harry realized he was taking too long to answer the question in the Professor's last sentence. He steeled himself. He was a Gryffindor. He could do this.

He lifted his head, in his determination to answer forgetting, for a moment, that he was also trying not to be Legilimized. They locked eyes. The brush against his mind came immediately.

What he did not expect was for something within his own mind to respond. Without conscious thought barriers he didn't know he had snapped into place.

For a moment, everything in the living room went absolutely still.

Dumbledore blinked. The connection broke. Just like that, the barriers slipped away again. Harry was left reeling. Since when did _he_ know Occlumency? He stayed as far from the practice as possible after those horrid lessons with Snape, no matter Hermione's insistence that it was an easily exploited weakness.

Did this mean Harry was a Legilimens as well? He had no idea.

The Professor was watching him closely. His expression was not exactly hostile, but there was a level of suspicion in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Legilimency must be seen with about as much favor here as it was in his own time and place.

Harry's eyes sought out the window. Brilliant sunlight streamed across the floor. Harry was thankful that those particular cooling charms were still in place.

He didn't blame the man for being suspicious, but that didn't stop it from hurting.

Dumbledore spoke first. "There are not many people familiar with such magic."

"Learning it was necessary," Harry managed, still dazed. "I- circumstances required me to be active in the war." There, no outright lie.

On the mantle, Hermione's book began to flash bright yellow.

Harry was infinitely grateful for the distraction. He shifted his teacup, which had somehow remained steady in his hand throughout the exchange, to his left hand and drew out his wand. He flicked it at the mantle and the alarm turned itself off. Harry put his wand away and took a sip of his tea, re-centering himself.

"It's a silent alarm for the library. Tom just took a fourth year level book. He's going faster than I thought he would. The stuff he was reading at lunch wasn't any higher than third year."

And apparently Harry was incapable of speech that did not involve stuttering or babbling.

"You are not worried of the possibility of him hurting himself or those around him? Advanced magic is dangerous without proper knowledge of the basics."

"He can't get into any of the books he won't be able to understand and use safely."

"You are sure of this?"

Harry shot him a _look. _He blushed the instant he realized what he'd just done and hurried to reply. "That's how they're warded. I wouldn't leave advanced books around the house with no protection but a silent alarm."

"Warding every book in your library must have taken quite some time."

"Not really." Not since the spell was cast on the shelves, not the individual books. It was one of Hermione's finds, a modified automatic classifying charm. They'd accidentally turned it into a selective ward when a few too many people tried to adjust it at the same time.

It was very handy so long as he didn't forget to put away the books; the charm didn't affect things left lying on chairs or tables around the house.

"You seem to know your wards quite well," Dumbledore commented in an offhand fashion.

"Yeah. I… had a chance last year to spend some time studying them in depth. Even got some pointers from a professional Curse Breaker. Learned a lot."

"What a wonderful opportunity."

"Mmm," Harry muffled his reply with a quick sip of tea. It was cold. He sent a warming charm through the cup. Wandless again. It hardly took any effort now.

Under different circumstances, learning the tricks of Bill Weasley's trade would likely have been interesting. At the time Harry was far more concerned with finding and destroying the Horcruxes. Hermione, however, insisted she could not be the only one well versed in the measures Voldemort could have taken when protecting his soul shards. As per usual, Harry and Ron found it far easier to just give in to her wheedling.

A shoe scuffed lightly in the dark hallway. Harry ignored it. Dumbledore, sitting further from the door, either didn't hear it or pretended not to.

"You seem rather young to be as involved in recent events as you have made it sound thus far."

"My parents were fairly active in certain parts of the war. Not here, but… elsewhere. That danger carried over to me."

"Surely your parents provided you with protection of their own?"

An ugly mass of emotion roiled in his chest. Coming from Dumbledore, that question was nearly as bad as being asked his name.

"They died when I was young. I was hidden with my Muggle Aunt. She didn't like magic much. The house was warded, so yes, I had that protection, but I couldn't stay there all the time." He laughed a bit. "Actually, I left as soon as I was able. Ended up traveling a lot. So I had to be able to take care of myself."

"Ah. I'm sorry to hear that living among Muggles was such an unfortunate experience for you."

"Well, yes, but that's not to say I hate them!" Harry could not afford a misunderstanding with Dumbledore on this point. "One of my best friends, Hermione, was Muggle-born. She was brilliant."

"That is good to hear. You are no longer in contact?"

"No," Harry said, an edge to his voice that he hadn't intended. These questions were less than comfortable. "There is no one is left for me to be in contact with. That's part of the reason I decided to try and settle down here." Hopefully that would put a temporary end to the questions about his past.

"My apologies," and a bit of the suspicion faded from his old professor's eyes. Harry breathed deeply, a little startled when it made him feel light headed. He hadn't realized he'd all but stopped breathing.

Dumbledore straightened and the stifling atmosphere shifted.

"Perhaps we should move back to the main purpose of my visit. There are certain financial issues I should mention. Tom's tuition and supplies have been provided for by Hogwarts up until now.

"As Tom was still under the guardianship of the orphanage when such matters were being settled for next term, his tuition is covered through next Christmas. After that, though, you will need to submit papers regarding your financial status if you wish to apply for any further scholarships. You will, however, be asked to pay for his school supplies."

Harry nodded his ascent.

After that, the conversation was easier. Harry asked the little questions about the school that he was expected to and Dumbledore answered them.

Still, Harry sighed in relief when the Professor was gone and the door safely shut.

His mind was awhirl with thought. The suspicion was troubling but not entirely unexpected, considering Dumbledore's opinion of who Harry Potter, come out of nowhere and claiming a Pureblood inheritance, had adopted. But there was something else Dumbledore said that stood out in Harry's mind. He snatched the picture of himself and Ginny off the mantle and ran to the downstairs bathroom.

The lights came on with a wave of his hand. He looked rapidly from the picture to his reflection. Was his skin actually paler? He'd spent a good portion of the last few weeks outside in the sun; he should be started on a decent tan. And good grief, some of his features did look different. His face was… flatter, and narrower. It was hardly noticeable unless one looked for it but… it was there.

His breathing hitched and the picture frame clattered as it tumbled into the sink.

He looked as though he could actually be blood related to Tom Riddle.

He remembered the sick look on Ron and Hermione's faces when their suspicions about the last Horcrux were confirmed… the weeks upon weeks of preparation… the wrenching, tearing feeling in his head as he shouted the unforgivable incantation and high pitched laughter turned into a scream of agony…

Gone! The Horcrux was supposed to be gone!

But then, Hermione had reminded him over and over of the risks involved with their plan…

"_This might not work, Harry, we're trying to recreate impossible circumstances without all the elements-"_

"_The circumstances weren't impossible, Hermione. They happened. And this isn't the same thing; I'm getting rid of a piece of trash that never belonged to me, not trying to tear my own soul to shreds." _

Neither he nor Hermione ever really won that argument, but in the end it didn't matter. They couldn't find any other way and it had to be done. But Hermione was right, it hadn't worked entirely. There was still a piece of it in him. And if it was affecting his appearance then who knew what else it was changing?

One of Harry's hands found its way to his forehead and pressed down on his scar.

Voldemort was gone; of that he was sure. He felt it when the killing curse he cast at Voldemort used the Horcrux inside him instead of tearing away a chunk of his own soul. He'd felt the connection between them snap milliseconds before everything else went to hell. There was no way Voldemort could survive off a fragment of a Horcrux in another time and dimension entirely. Voldemort was gone; his friends were safe.

Harry swallowed hard as yet another chunk of the miniscule hope of going home dropped away. There was no way he could go back now… not if there was still a piece of Voldemort inside of him. He couldn't chance it. He couldn't do that to his friends and surrogate family.

Now if only Harry knew what was happening to _him_.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Harry shot to his feet and swayed, dizzy from the sudden movement. When had he dropped to the floor?

Tom appeared in the doorway Harry had been in no mind to close.

"What was _he _here for?"

He, as in Dumbledore. The only person Harry ever referred to in such fashion was Voldemort. Harry swallowed back a wave of bile.

"Like you weren't listening in." _Temper_. Voldemort had a short temper. But so did Harry. It didn't mean anything. "It's a routine checkup when students switch households, apparently. They want to make sure the new family knows everything about the school that they should."

Tom's eyes darted from Harry's too pale face to the picture in the sink. Harry scooped up the photo and fled the room before Tom could say anything more.

* * *

**End Chapter**

Whew. Longest chapter yet. Hopefully I've answered some questions and raised others.

Dumbledore is perhaps a bit cliché for Harry's first "previous life" run-in but I needed him to be the one to visit from Hogwarts. I tried to insert Slughorn into the last chapter but it was just not working. He will most likely be making an appearance at some point, though. As will McGonagall. And Hagrid, if I can figure out where to put him.

Comments are lovely… and if anyone catches grammatical mistakes or Americanisms I would be most grateful if you'd let me know so they can be gotten rid of.


	5. Muggles and Family

**AN: **Goggles at the story stats, then jumps up and does a happy dance. You guys are awesome! I'm glad the last chapter met with such a positive response, as it's been in the works almost since I first had the idea for this story.

Warning: teenage temper tantrums ahead. Woohoo, I can alliterate.

* * *

Harry slammed a cupboard door angrily. Of all the nerve…! He yanked open the refrigerator door and picked up the jug of newly bought milk. He'd love to go back outside and empty it over a certain Tom Riddle's head.

* * *

"Good afternoon Mr. Potter!" This had to be one of those people who could remember the name of every person she met; either that, or it was simply more proof that the village of Godric's Hollow was very small. Small enough that she could remember a customer who had only been in her store once. 

"Afternoon, Mrs. Clark," Harry nodded to the owner of the village's only grocery. "Oh. This is my brother, Tom Riddle-Potter. He'll be staying with me the rest of the summer, till he goes back to school." Harry indicated the scowling boy standing just behind him.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riddle-Potter." Tom sneered and stalked into a side isle. Harry's eyes narrowed. He apologized quietly to the Muggle woman, then moved on to business. "I'd like some more of that ham, please."

* * *

Harry crouched to shove the slab of ham onto the bottom shelf, next to the bacon. He tried to stand and sharp pain ripped through his knee. He sucked in a harsh breath and slipped to the ground, a hand clutching desperately at the counter. 

The refrigerator door swung shut on its own but he hardly noticed as his head began to throb in time with the pounding in his leg. His hand slipped from the counter to rub harshly against his forehead, free hand pressed against the floor to keep himself from toppling over.

His vision started to spin and Harry sank further to the floor. The stone felt cool and soothing on his forehead.

He must look a sight, he thought irrelevantly, sprawled across the floor like this.

Tom could come in at any minute.

The thought of the boy sent another burst of anger through him, pushing through his hazy thoughts and letting him focus. He refused to let the brat find him this way.

The chairs around the kitchen table were lower than the counter; if he could reach them he could get himself off the floor before the boy came in. He pulled himself towards the table, practically army crawling as every slight pressure to his knee sent pain stabbing through him.

But the anger faded too soon, and with it, his only source of stubborn strength. His vision started down the all too familiar tunnel. He wasn't going to make it to the table. Damn.

* * *

Harry's jaw dropped. He stared at the boy in mounting fury. 

"Apologize," he said in a low voice, "now." Tom crossed his arms and glared stubbornly.

"Excuse us, Mrs. Clark," Harry murmured, setting the payment for their groceries onto the counter with deliberate care. He lifted the pair of bags with one hand and gestured curtly at the door, staring straight into Tom's eyes, daring him to protest. A brief image of Dumbledore, staring down at him in disapproval, flickered through his vision. Tom winced and Harry realized the memory was not his own. He was a Legilimens, then. The knowledge made him no less angry.

"Let's go," he ordered, breaking eye contact. Tom set himself, lifting his chin and opening his mouth to say something that Harry was certain would make him lose himself completely. He snagged Tom's shoulder with his free hand, pulling up and over on his shirt just enough to set Tom off balance so that he was easily turned towards the door with a firm push.

Tom jerked himself free and led the way to the door with all the mustered aloofness of a dignitary.

As soon as they were out of sight, Harry took hold of Tom's shoulder again and apparated them both back to the front drive of the Potter Grounds.

The bags were banished to the kitchen with hardly a thought and Harry rounded on Tom.

"What were you thinking, saying something like that!"

"She's only a dirty old Muggle!"

Harry wanted to hit him. "She's just as human as you and me!" he bellowed, waving a hand about in anger. Tom's posture abruptly grew defensive.

This time, the flash of memory was his own; that of the towering Vernon advancing on his nephew, hatred and cruelty glittering in his eyes. The thought that he'd just manhandled a child in his care, and felt fully ready to do worse, stopped Harry in his tracks.

He took a deep, steadying breath, turned, and strode towards the house.

Tom did not follow.

* * *

"It's about time you woke up." 

He recognized that voice. Who…? Not Ron. "Tom?"

His eyes cracked open. Everything was blurry. He blinked slowly.

"You were expecting the Minister?"

Harry wasn't up to giving a fittingly sarcastic reply. Things were still blurry, but the fabric of the living room couch was close enough to be recognizable, as his head was resting on its arm. Yes, there was the fireplace, and the windows… the windows were much too bright. He averted his eyes with a groan and came face to face with a blur that must be Tom.

"What—"

"You fainted."

Harry eyed the empty vials sitting on the coffee table. He'd purposely left the wards on the medical potions stock easy enough for Tom to get through if he needed to. The problem was he couldn't ever remember telling Tom where they were, and he had no idea how Tom'd got them into Harry without waking him up. Doing that required medical knowledge Harry had in no way known by his second year.

"Awake, are we?" a new voice boomed. Harry jerked upright and his vision went white. He groped blindly for his glasses, only to have them pressed into his hand. He shoved them on, blinking rapidly as his vision took its time coming back.

Horace Slughorn stood just inside the hallway, looking boisterous as ever and, at the moment, faintly apologetic.

"So sorry, Mr. Potter, didn't mean to startle you. Professor Horace Slughorn," he introduced himself, "Tom's Head of House and Hogwarts resident Potions Master. He was a might worried when you didn't wake up and called me, smart lad. Now, don't get up, you'll still be a bit dizzy yet."

"Er, it's a pleasure, sir."

How long had he been unconscious, Harry wondered blearily, lifting a hand to protect his eyes from the sunlight pouring in through the windows. Wait. If there was that much sun coming inside, it had to be well into the evening. He'd been out for several hours.

At least a Potions Master knew what he was doing with the potions more than a soon to be second year.

"Of course, of course. The honor's mine, I'm sure, to be meeting the man Tom chose as his new family. He's a fine lad, most promising student I've seen in my career. And I do pride myself on knowing talent when I see it."

Harry stretched a bit. Ah, one of those vials had to have contained a pain potion. He was feeling much better, if a little dizzy, as the Professor had said.

"I'm sure he does well in his classes, sir."

"He certainly does," the man laughed, then fixed Harry with a speculative look that made him distinctly nervous. "So, a Potter, eh? Good name, solid history, the Potters. Been gone a while, though."

Harry forced a stoic look upon his face. "Yes. I know. And you don't need to worry about losing your prize student. I'm perfectly capable of providing for him."

Slughorn laughed again and turned to Tom, who was scowling at being ignored. "Ah, good choice, Mr. Riddle-Potter. Got good heads on your shoulders, the both of you. But it's getting late, and now that Mr. Potter's awake I'd best be going. I'll let you get back to your evening. Don't be afraid to call if you need my assistance again, boys, but you might consider contacting St. Mungos if this becomes a repeating occurrence. You never know if the problem could be more serious than it appears, and I'm no mediwizard. Always willing to help, of course, don't doubt that."

"I'm sure I'll be fine, sir. Thank you." Harry cut in when it looked like the man would never stop talking.

"Of course! Of course. I'll be going, then. If I could use your floo?"

"Yeah. The powder's over by the fireplace," Harry pointed to the bookshelf, where the floo powder sat, still in the bag he'd bought it in.

After another round of thank you's and goodbyes, the man finally left in a flash of green fire. Harry sighed and slumped in his seat, muzzily debating the merits of trying to get up to his room against just lying back down where he was. He didn't even realize Tom was still in the room until the boy cleared his throat.

Harry rested his chin in one hand and gave the twelve year old his attention. He hoped Tom would not bring up what had transpired between them earlier; he was in no mood to test his temper again so soon, even if it seemed to have settled down a bit while he was unconscious. Go figure.

But Tom had another issue on his mind.

"You mentioned my mother, the day we first met."

Harry had wondered when the kid would finally get around to asking about that. "Yeah?"

Tom scowled. "You acted like you knew who she was. I haven't been able to find anything about her or my father. What do you know about them? Tell me!"

Harry narrowed his eyes. He was not inclined to giving in to a demand that really should have been a request, especially after this display of less than perfect physical health; that would open him up to perceived weakness that Tom would walk all over. However, Harry had no intention of keeping Tom from knowledge about his family, especially not with the little hints he'd been dropping. That would be cruel.

Harry lifted a hand and summoned a specific book from the library, locked down under more than one security measure. The wards recognized him and released one of the books he'd taken from the vault. _Pureblood Families and an Overview of Their Histories _flew into his hand a moment later. He handed it to Tom. "The name you're looking for is Gaunt. Your father won't be in there."

He knew that giving Tom knowledge of his mother's family was all but telling him of his famous ancestor. He'd find that out soon anyway, though, and Harry would rather Tom come into that knowledge on Harry's own timing.

But Tom was looking at him, not the book. "Why won't my father be in here?"

Oh. Yeah. He didn't know about that yet.

Harry sighed and sat up fully, wincing a bit. "Sit down, Tom."

"Why is my father not in this book?"

"Sit _down, _Tom." Tom dropped to the edge of the coffee table, bumping a few of the glasses. One of them fell over and rolled off the table.

"He wasn't a wizard, Tom." Tom's breath hitched.

"Liar! You liar! He was a wizard! He was! Tell the truth!"

Harry snarled. "No, Tom, he was a Muggle. A mundane Muggle from a mundane Muggle town."

"I don't believe you!" Tom sounded desperate.

"That's your problem, not mine, but if you want any more information about your father, you'd best start looking where I first found him; a Muggle obituary."

Tom stared at Harry, wide eyed.

Harry sighed and scrubbed his hands across his face. "He died of pneumonia," he said quietly, "there was apparently an epidemic of it that year. It killed your grandparents as well."

"And my mother?" His voice sounded surprisingly even.

"I'm not sure; the records for her aren't as clear. Best I've been able to figure she just didn't have the will to live without your father."

Harry's eyes drifted past Tom's shoulder to the pictures on the mantle. He knew what he was making this sound like, but he just was not ready to address that issue right now. Eventually Tom would realize that the dates did not line up, and there would no doubt be another explosion of tempers. Harry was content to let the issue lie until then.

Tom still looked a bit dazed.

"Tom…"

"Stop calling me that!"

Harry stared at him, dumfounded. "What should I call you, then?"

Tom snarled. "I don't care! I-"

"No? Maybe you'd like Tommy? Or TJ? Tommy Junior. Yes, that's fitting, isn't it?"

"Shut up! I'm no Muggle!"

"I think I know that by now!" All the shouting was making Harry dizzy. He slumped back into the couch while they both caught their breath.

"Nothing wrong with being ordinary, Tom," Harry said more calmly. His gaze locked on to the photo of the Gryffindor trio bent over mounds of books. "I'm rather enjoying it, actually," he added under his breath.

Tom squinted at him. He stood without a word, the book clutched tightly in his arms. Harry saw him cast a glance at the photos as he hurried across the room. He reached the foot of the staircase and paused, turning back so he could look at Harry. "They're the ones that the new grave marker is for."

Harry jerked, eyes flying to the window, then the pictures on the mantle, and back to Tom. He'd been spending quite a bit of time fixing up the family graveyard in the days since Dumbledore's visit. It was quite and peaceful, a little glen tucked away just inside the forest's edge. Since seeing his former Headmaster he'd felt the need to do something to remind himself that his previous life was dead and gone. He needed some kind of closure before he did something to give himself away.

Apparently, Tom was more aware of where he spent his time outside than he'd thought.

"Them and my parents," he admitted.

Tom smirked. "One measly little stone. _In Memory. _Not so much as a single name. Don't think they would be very happy with you if they knew that's all you gave them."

"You know nothing about them."

Tom slammed the book down on the banister. Harry jumped. "I know more about that than I do about anything else!" He stormed up the staircase.

Harry sat on the couch for a long time. He eventually gave up trying to figure out what Tom meant by that last sentence and just went to bed.

* * *

The next morning, Harry limped his way downstairs, thinking only of a morning cuppa and perhaps some scrambled eggs. Skipping dinner the night before had left him absolutely ravenous this morning. He stopped when broken glass crunched under his slipper-clad feet, looking down in surprise. Where had that come from? 

He followed the scattered glass carefully. There wasn't much of it, just a few pieces here and there, but it seemed to be fanning outwards from… he stepped around the coffee table and stopped breathing.

The glass was concentrated in front of the unlit fireplace, its source suddenly very clear. The picture frames had been thrown to the floor. Broken glass crunched underfoot as Harry approached and gingerly shifted one of the frames aside. In among the scattered glass lay the remains of what had been two wizard photos of Harry and his friends, both of them torn cleanly in half.

* * *

**End Chapter**

Dun dun dun. Kind of a cliffie, I guess. Apologies for the shortness and lateness of this chapter. At least they finally got around to the issue of family again.

I'm hoping Slughorn's personality is right. A friend is borrowing my copy of HBP so I couldn't really check it. This is how I remember him, so…

Two questions:

Is there anything specific that you'd like to see covered between Tom and Harry? There are several issues that I have in mind to include, Parseltongue being one, but if you guys think of something I haven't I'd like to put it in. Second, would you like to see some of Tom's POV? I was going to try and do the whole story from Harry's POV, but there are certain things that are hard to explain through Harry's eyes, Tom's reasoning in letting Harry adopt him being one.


	6. What's in a Name

**AN:** Several people have asked where I'm going with the story. I won't give everything away but will say this; the story will not contain excessive amounts of darkness or angst. In other words, there will be a happy ending.

A lot of this story seems to take place in the kitchen. I think that room has been in every chapter so far, minus the prologue. Oh well.

A couple of you called this one: any language that is not English, i.e. Latin and Parseltongue, _"will look like this."

* * *

_

Harry stared, for a moment feeling nothing but complete shock. The frame corner slipped from his fingers, glass tinkling as it shattered to even smaller pieces under the dropped wood.

Cold intent settled over him. Harry stood, slowly, staring strait ahead out the living room windows to where the long shadow of the house stretched over the field outside.

Tom was upstairs.

How he knew this, Harry neither knew nor cared. He simply followed where his instincts lead him, going back up the way he'd just come down. The lingering stiffness and limp were all but forgotten in the face of this cold, calculating rage, so foreign to his usual fiery temper but all the same a perfect fit.

The door to Tom's room was closed. And locked. Neither was any hindrance. The door burst open and hit the wall, no doubt leaving a dent.

Tom was by his desk, standing with his weight resting on the back of his chair. A book was open on the desk, the breeze from the open window ruffling its pages.

Tom turned abruptly at the noisy intrusion. He took one look at Harry and lunged for his bed, upon which rested the only broom in the house. Harry's broom.

Harry's pictures.

Harry's _family. _

Halfway to his bed an invisible force abruptly arrested his forward momentum. Tom choked, grasping at his throat.

"_Don't even think about it," _Harry hissed. Tom made a strangled gasping noise, still clutching at his throat, eyes impossibly wide and mouth moving wordlessly.

Harry held up his other hand. A moment's concentration brought several items shooting from their places around the room on shelves and in drawers, coming to hover in front of him obediently. His broom followed. The book on the desk snapped shut and glowed briefly.

Harry dropped Tom and stepped back out of the doorway. _"Come on," _he commanded.

"_You're a Parselmouth," _Tom stammered back in the same language, coughing as he regained his feet. Harry snarled, feeling his magic spark. Tom came, darting nervous glances at the objects floating around Harry. Whether they were actually his or not Harry didn't particularly care; they were important to Tom and that was all that mattered at the moment.

"The library," he ordered in English, and down they went.

When they got there, Harry made sure Tom was watching as he levitated the first of the objects, a yo-yo, over to the library's only table. It glowed briefly in a fashion similar to the book upstairs.

"Living room."

He dropped a second object, this one a small Foe-Glass, in the middle of the coffee table. It, too, glowed briefly. Harry let his broom drop to the floor beside the couch.

"Kitchen." A familiar expression of obstinacy began to creep back onto Tom's face. _"Kitchen. Now." _It disappeared again.

Once the last object, a Remembrall, had been deposited on the kitchen table and the glow faded, Harry stalked to the back door and pulled it open. He could feel the rage-fueled magic crackling around him, not at all diminished by their little stroll through the house. The doorknob sizzled under his hand. Tom paled and edged by him, trepidation clear in every measured movement. Harry followed him out, letting the door slam. Tom jumped.

Despite the early hour, the air outside was already growing warm. Harry's slippers transfigured themselves into outdoor shoes with a wave of his hand.

Harry stopped them about a hundred meters away from the house. "You have your wand with you?" It took concentration to keep the words English.

Tom, apparently, had enough survival sense not to lie at this point. "Of course," he sneered, "I don—"

"Good." Harry used his own wand to conjure five practice dummies. "Don't get hit."

Tom jerked and took a step backwards. "What?"

Blue light erupted from the fake wand held by the nearest dummy. Tom ducked it just in time. He took several steps backwards, clearly intending to turn and run. Colored light hit the ground behind him, driving him forward, back towards the dummies, which were spreading out and circling to block him in.

Tom shot a glance at Harry, who stood behind the dummies with his arms crossed, pose completely nonchalant. The boy seemed to realize he wasn't going to be getting any help, because his posture straightened instantly. Expression melting from slightly panicked to completely unperturbed in the space of an instant, a trick Harry attributed only to Slytherins and practiced Occlumens, he returned his attention to the dummies. By this time they had him completely surrounded.

Tom dodged the next set of lights; a pair of beams the color of stunners, and began to fight back.

He didn't use any shielding spells, but his retaliatory curses became increasingly inventive as the dummies kept regaining their feet no matter how many times he disarmed, burnt, or cut into their limbs. They simply got back up and came back faster each time.

Of course, as Harry well knew, even with knowledge of more curses than children several years his elder had could not make up for lack of practical experience. It wasn't long before he was overwhelmed.

Three separate lights came at him all at once. He ducked one and dodged left to avoid the second, moving right into the path of the last one. The stinging hex hit his leg mid-lunge and Tom yelped, toppling to the ground. Light started to glow at the tips of all five wands.

"_Protego!"_ Five separate beams of light hit the shield and were deflected. Harry stepped forward, reaching down to haul Tom to his feet with one hand and holding off the dummies with the other. "You're not done yet."

Now that there were two opponents, the dummies upped their speed and accuracy, shifting to compete at a level fitting their new opponent, as the spell had created them to. Handy spell, this was, though Harry had been less than pleased the first time Shacklebolt sprang it on him.

Then a spell whistled by his ear and Harry scolded himself for letting his attention stray.

Harry settled into the mock-fight, finally letting himself go. Frustration and anger that had been building up over the last few weeks was released in a fury of spells; some wordless, some wandless, some neither, but all of them powerful. Hair-trigger instincts awoke with glee, finesse thrown to the wind in favor of accuracy and power. It was the perfect channel to burn off the rage that had been slowly gathering with every slight from Tom he ignored. He should have done this ages ago.

Despite the near bliss of an intense magical workout, he didn't let Tom get away with not fighting, only protecting him when he couldn't do it himself. He saw the boy shooting him venomous glares, as if contemplating throwing a hex at Harry himself while his back was turned.

Harry let a dummy sneak up behind him and took off its hand at the last instant. The glares stopped.

In too short a time, Tom began to stumble. His wandwork became increasingly messy as he tired. When he looked as though he would collapse at any minute, Harry thought he'd made his point. In one last display of power, all the dummies spontaneously burst into flames. They were reduced to ash in instants.

They panted together for a moment, recovering their breath.

Harry felt much calmer now that he'd worked off his temper. Not likely to blow out any nearby glass, at any rate. He turned to the exhausted boy standing silently, warily, by him.

"I think it's time we got a few things straight."

Tom swallowed.

* * *

Tom stared, bewildered, at Harry's retreating back. 

He was exhausted. Drained. Easily taken advantage of. Trapped.

And Harry was walking away.

_It's time we got a few things straight. _Didn't that imply, oh, talking? Threatening?

So why was Harry walking away?

Harry seemed to realize he wasn't being followed. He paused and turned back a bit. "Well come on, then. I'm starving."

Oh. Breakfast. Right.

Breakfast? _Now? _

Harry made an impatient sound that jump-started Tom's legs without his brains permission. As soon as he saw he was being obeyed, Harry turned and began walking again. Actually… he wasn't walking so much as limping. Heavily. Tom had only caught hints of it previously, but now it was awfully hard to miss.

As soon as they were inside, Harry sat down at the kitchen table. He lowered himself into his chair carefully, looking as though he was in pain and trying to hide it.

Tom hesitated. Harry didn't expect him to cook, did he? He flopped into his chair anyway. He was _tired_; if Harry wanted him to cook he'd have to say so.

Harry drew his wand and Tom stiffened. He needn't have worried; with a few swishes of the wand breakfast started making itself. Tom found himself staring again. Harry never made meals solely with magic.

Tom stayed very, very still as Harry focused on breakfast. There was a line between his eyes, but Tom couldn't tell if it was from pain or lingering anger. He found himself hesitating to so much as breathe for fear of drawing Harry's attention and forced himself to relax again.

It would appear he'd found the breaking point for Harry's temper. Well, he'd been looking for it, hadn't he? Testing the waters, learning the territory like any good Slytherin.

Only he hadn't expected the boiling point to come quite so suddenly, and with so much force.

At first Harry seemed to be a pushover. He left Tom alone to do what he liked, which suited him just fine. He called Harry by his first name and was never rebuked. So he pushed a little harder, and refused to do any chores, and was met with angry glares and no meals. But that was all right, Tom could deal with taking care of himself and his own things, as he'd always done.

Then he'd pushed a little more and Harry had gone and grown teeth, with a very sharp set of claws to match.

And now Tom was more than a little nervous.

He didn't want Harry to throw him out. Not just because he'd have to go back to that filthy Muggle orphanage, but to return to the orphanage now, especially after Dumbledore and Slughorn and therefore the entire Hogwarts staff knew he'd been adopted… Tom couldn't take that kind of humiliation. _Wouldn't _take it.

But it was more than even that. Harry had offered more than his home to Tom. He'd tied himself to Tom _by name. _By a Pureblood name with hundreds of years of history, no less. In the Magical world, such a thing was not offered lightly. To take it back, to reject Tom now, would be the ultimate slap in the face, far worse than that stupid Mudblood epithet.

Oh, how much work it had taken to stop _those. _The fact that Professor Slughorn was so enamored with him helped but could not completely cover the flaw that was his name. In Slytherin house, family and wealth equaled power. Tom had neither, until Harry showed up.

Harry, with his name and money and promises of knowledge and power and far too good to be true. He had to have some hidden motive. No one did something so drastic as to adopt a boy like Tom for no other reason than _compassion. _Not even wizards as highly looked upon as Dumbledore.

Tom glared at the Remembrall on the table. Technically it wasn't his. He'd never buy himself something so useless. It originally belonged to some idiot Gryffindor who'd ridiculed him in flying class and nearly made him fall off his broom.

He hadn't stopped getting revenge on people who slighted him just because _Dumbledore _found his old box of treasures. He'd just had to be a bit more… careful about it. So long as he was not caught, it didn't matter what the Transfiguration Professor suspected.

Tom _knew_, from the moment that nasty Professor told him of magic, that his father was a wizard, no doubt out there somewhere with no knowledge that a one night fling with a dirty Muggle had left him with a son. And someday Tom would find his father, and he'd be a rich king in some other country, with power and money and all the magical prowess in the world, and Tom would show him what a powerful wizard he was and he would take Tom and tutor him until it was Tom's turn to rule.

And with a few words, Harry undid Tom's dreams.

His father was a Muggle. A dirty, common, _dead_ Muggle.

Tom was crushed. So he did what he always did when someone slighted him, challenged him. Billy had done it first, and Tom discovered the delight of using his power to hurt back, to get revenge, in a way far better than dunking Billy's head in a water barrel as Richard had done when Billy called his mother a whore. Hurting the enemy's pride was all well and good, but not nearly as satisfying as doing it to something tangible. The stupid rabbit, one of the only pets in the orphanage and a frequent subject of boasting, died. And everyone saw it.

It was what made those ugly children in the orphanage steer well away from him, what let him rise in the eyes of his Slytherin housemates despite the fact that no one had heard of the name Riddle.

No one got away with insulting Tom Riddle, and no one would get away with insulting Tom Riddle-Potter.

A plate of eggs and toast landed in front of him with a soft clatter. Across from him, Harry sighed and leaned forward, picking up his fork in one hand and running the other through his salt and pepper hair, briefly displaying an oddly shaped scar on his forehead before Harry smoothed his fringe back down in the same motion and the scar disappeared again.

Tom stared. How had he never noticed _that _before?

"Tom. Those pictures…"

Harry fidgeted, looking supremely uncomfortable. That was much easier to work with than blistering anger. Now if only Tom weren't feeling so rattled and unable to properly think to direct this conversation.

"I—look, Tom, I had to leave my previous home very, very suddenly." Harry paused, casting a somewhat hopeful look at Tom through his glasses.

Unfortunately, Tom had no idea what Harry was expecting him to say.

"Er, here," Harry sighed, "You saw my room, right?"

Well, yes, he had dashed across the hall to grab the broom as soon as he'd heard Harry head downstairs. He thought it would make a decent bargaining chip, and if things went extremely wrong, provide a means of escape.

Not that either plan worked. Quite the opposite, really. Tom wrinkled his nose. He did not like misjudging people to that extent. The pushover Harry that Tom had just begun to feel confident around had vanished within the space of twenty-four hours, starting with that Muggle woman at the grocery.

Harry leaned forward, both hands pressing to the table top. "What was in there?"

A messily made bed, the bare minimum of furniture, an open door to a bathroom Tom hadn't spared a second glance, the broom propped up in a corner next to the trunk of Quidditch gear Harry bought to go with it… a normal bedroom, really, if a little bare.

More than a little bare, now that he thought about it. Really, about the only personal thing in there had been the broom and some clothes lying about. There were no knickknacks whatsoever.

Oh.

"You didn't bring _anything?" _What kind of an idiot moved to a different country without bringing anything with them? He'd thought Harry just kept most of his more personal things in his room, like Tom did. Not that it would have changed Tom's actions. The fewer items a person had, the more they favored them after all, like that stupid rabbit that had been the prize pet of the orphanage until Tom's magic killed it.

Almost no one bothered him after that.

Harry shook his head.

"I was lucky I didn't have to pay for my stay in the Leaky Cauldron until I left, because I didn't even have enough money for my room until Gringotts gave me access to the vault."

And just when Tom was starting to think Harry might have suited Slytherin, he went and did something with rashness only befitting a Gryffindor.

"Why did you have to leave so fast you couldn't even pack?"

Harry tugged nervously on his fringe, flattening it down against his forehead. "It… had to do with the war," he said, "I can't really tell you details. The decision was out of my hands, anyway." He picked up his fork and stuffed another bite into his mouth, as though hoping that would be enough to change the subject.

But Tom wasn't going to let the issue go, not now that Harry was finally giving answers. He was tired of not knowing anything about his adoptive "brother." Learning about Harry through the usual means was all but impossible when no one here knew Harry, he wasn't in any of the books, and they never spent enough time together for Tom to learn anything but how to aggravate him. Which was also important to know, of course, but it still wasn't enough.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Harry never asked what kinds of food he liked, never asked if he would perhaps like to have a friend over, which he wouldn't because he didn't need friends and this place was a dump compared to the homes most of his housemates had. It had nothing to do with the fact that Harry all but ignored him, because he liked solitude, darn it, had worked and manipulated his way through the orphanage children to get them to leave him the bloody hell alone. It had absolutely nothing to do with any possible kind of desire for the approval of someone who mattered, nor the genuine happiness that the students displayed when they received letters from home.

Nope. Nothing to do with that at all. Those kinds of emotions were for blubbering Hufflepuffs and idealistic Gryffindors. They were nothing but a stupid weakness, an easy way for someone else to trap you.

And Tom Marvolo Riddle-Potter would Not. Be. Trapped. Not by anything. Ever.

"What _did_ you do in the war?" Harry frowned. "Oh, come on," Tom wheedled, the promise of answers making him just a bit reckless, "I don't know a thing about you." And he really did need to know more if he was going to avoid any more confrontations like earlier.

An angry guardian was good only if they ignored you or grew just angry enough to be easily manipulated when they stopped thinking properly.

Harry laughed a bit shakily. "A little bit of everything, really. I spent most of last year tracking down certain items the other guys made for the war and destroying them."

Tom frowned. If Harry was not yet eighteen then… "How did you have time for school?"

"I didn't."

"What!"

Harry waved his hand negligently, as though lacking a full education was absolutely nothing to be concerned about. "We did school work when we could. Actually, we managed to almost keep up with what we would have been learning if we had gone to school, but there were other things that were more important."

Tom didn't ask about the sudden use of the word "we". He had a guess and it was lying in two pieces on the living room floor.

"I am going to finish Hogwarts." Harry blinked at the apparent non sequitur.

"Of course you are."

Tom sent him a skeptical look. Harry was an unemployed school drop out. How on earth did he plan to afford it? "If you never even took your OWL's how do you expect to get a good enough job? Unless there's more money in that vault than you said there was."

Harry rolled his eyes. "They're called scholarships, Tom. And I took my bloody OWL's! I just don't have proof of it, and I'm not really sure how it would compare to the tests here… anyway. I do have partial training as a ward specialist. I'll figure something out after the school year starts."

"Want to keep an eye on me, huh? Don't trust me alone in your house?"

"Yeah, that's right. It has everything to do with you and nothing to do with the fact that this place is a mess and it'll take the entire summer and then some to fix up."

"Like those cooling charms you still haven't managed to repair? The library's been getting awfully hot, you know."

To be fair, Harry had been doing a bunch lot of other things around the place. Tom had spotted him the other day, walking a wide circle around the house with a dagger in hand, cutting his palm every few steps, putting up blood wards. While not illegal, as the blood in such wards was willingly given by the caster, blood wards were also considered to be a tad excessive by most wizards. By the time Harry was done with it, Tom suspected the house would be a right magical fortress.

Harry's jaw clenched. "Yes. I know. I'm working on it."

Tom's mind was already on to his next question. "Where did you get that scar?" Harry shot him a look, smoothing his fringe down again, but he answered anyway.

"It's a leftover from the night my parents died." Tom ignored the clipped tone of his voice. It was only vaguely irritated. Now that he knew what truly angry sounded like, it was easier to judge how far he could push.

"It's a curse scar."

"More of a curse gone wrong scar, but yeah."

"What about your leg?"

"That one's pretty new," he said bluntly, not appearing to be overly surprised Tom was asking about it.

"Is it related to what made this?" Tom tugged at a lock of hair just above his ear.

"No," Harry scowled, brushing his hand over the clump of white hair, and did not explain further.

The answers were growing short. He'd best move on to the next subject now… "We're related, aren't we," he accused. "That's how youfound outabout me so fast."

Harry choked. "What makes you say that?" he gasped, coughing and reaching for his tea.

Tom sat up straight, setting his fork down harshly. "I'm not stupid," he hissed, "I've seen the resemblance, and Professor Slughorn mentioned it, and so did Dumbledore, I bet! We'd probably look even more alike if your hair was still black-"

"-It _is_ still black-"

"-and you're a Parselmouth." The only Parselmouth Tom knew of aside from himself. And as most of them shared a common ancestor in Salazar Slytherin, it wasn't that much of a leap to think that they could also have a more recent relation.

Harry grimaced. "Wondered how long that one would take to come up," he muttered. He sighed and shifted back, as if settling in for a long discussion. "How far did you get in that book last night?"

"About fifteen pages," Tom lied.

"No you didn't," Harry disagreed. "If you had then we wouldn't be talking about this. The Potters and the Gaunts haven't intermarried for several hundred years."

Tom stiffened, angry. "But we look alike! And you're a _Parselmouth!" _

"I know, Tom,"

"Quit_ calling _me that!"

He hated that name, especially now that he knew about his father. Everyone at school called him by his last name, and now they would call him by his new, wizard's last name, and he wouldn't have to hear that name _Tom_ ever again if only Harry would stop_ calling_ him that.

Harry sighed and narrowed his eyes, as though irritated but too tired to do anything about it. He rubbed at his forehead, over his fringe so that his scar didn't come into view.

"My ability to speak that language doesn't come from my bloodline, unless it came in very, very far back. I got it magically, through an accident I was lucky to survive and which would be almost impossible to recreate and I will not be telling you anything more about it."

Fine. _Fine. _If Harry was going to be obstinate then there was little Tom could do about it right now, with Harry still on his guard.

"Then what do you want?" Harry looked at him as though he thought the question to be supremely odd. Tom didn't think it was.

"Why would I want anything?"

Because if they weren't related then Tom really couldn't think of any reason for Harry to adopt him. People didn't just do things like that without some other motivation. Tom was vicious and cruel and a difficult boy and he knew it. And Harry had to know it too. There was no way he couldn't, not if he'd been talking to Mrs. Cole. Therefore Harry had to have another agenda. And if Tom couldn't figure out what Harry wanted, then he might not be fulfilling it, and Harry might send him back.

"Tom," Harry said, very quietly, "why can you not accept that I adopted you because you need a family and I want one?"

"Because you're a _liar_!" Tom jumped out of his chair.

There was no such thing as family for the sake of family. Things like that just _didn't happen. _

Harry pushed his plate back and stood as well. He stumbled and hissed, grabbing the back of his chair in a white-knuckled grip. Tom watched silently.

Harry took a moment to regain his composure and straightened.

"C'mere, Tom," he gestured for Tom to follow him out of the kitchen.

"Right away, _Mr. Potter." _

Harry snorted and led the way back into the library, walking stiffly.

"I don't appreciate my things being destroyed, so you get to stare at these for the rest of the summer," Harry said, jabbing his finger at the yo-yo on the desk. "Feel free to try moving them." He didn't seem to think Tom would attempt anything, and he was right. Tom would wait until Harry wasn't standing there watching.

"You're Muggle-raised, like I was, so I guess I should have been expecting the occasional faux pas. But I did give you something to keep such embarrassing incidents to a minimum. Now, where was it? Oh, yes."

Tom stared. Was this about the pictures or that Muggle woman? Suddenly he wasn't so sure.

Harry plucked a book from one of the shelves and dropped in onto the table, right next to the yo-yo. It was that book Harry had shoved into his hands at the bookstore, the one he'd promptly ignored in favor of the much more interesting texts. _Etiquette and Magical Customs for the British Witch and Wizard. _Harry tapped it on the cover a few times, smiling disconcertingly at Tom.

"Since I'm sure you don't want something like this morning to happen again, you're going to read this cover to cover."

Oh, no he wasn't. If Harry thought he could actually make Tom-

"And until you do," Harry added with a certain vicious glee only Slytherins should be allowed to express, "you're not going to be able to open any of the other books in this house. That includes your school books, and the _Pureblood History _sitting on your desk upstairs, which will be staying here when you go back to school, by the way. So if you haven't finished your summer homework I suggest you get reading."

With that, Harry snatched Tom's hand and pressed it against the nearest bookshelf. He muttered a short incantation and a golden wave of light pulsed outward from where Tom's hand pressed into the wood, running through the books and the back of the shelves and, no doubt, over every book in the house.

That was the fourth time within two days that Harry had touched him, after a good few weeks of no contact whatsoever. Tom shoved at Harry, incensed. Harry stepped back easily, even though he had several years' worth of muscle over Tom's prepubescent body and shouldn't have been easily shoved. A second look made Tom think that Harry was barely managing to keep his feet, what with the way almost all his weight was resting on his right leg.

Harry brushed down his clothes, unperturbed.

"Happy reading," he smiled and left the room.

Tom scowled and kicked the bookcase. Since when did Harry threaten? It was delivered somewhat amateurishly, but the follow through more than made up for that.

"_Reparo," _Harry's voice came faintly from down the hall, and Tom heard the sound of glass flying back together. Harry was fixing the picture frames. Tom wondered if he would try to fix the pictures as well, if they even could be fixed.

Harry shuffled around in the other room a bit more before his footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Tom reached tentatively for a random book. It didn't move, no matter how hard he pulled. His hand dropped and clenched.

Harry may have made his point about the pictures, but Tom did not buy any of his excuses. He would wait, and keep looking for a chance to get his answers.

At least it didn't look like he was going to be sent back.

* * *

**End Chapter**

Poor confused Tom. -Pats him on the head- There, there, it'll be alright.

Nice long chapter to make up for the wait. Hopefully it didn't disappoint.

Realized I spelled 'vials' as 'viles' in the last chapter (please, if you spot anything else like that, tell me so it can get fixed!), so went back and changed that as well as several other things through the rest of the story. Nothing major to the story, just little things I didn't think read very well.

In other news, I've been looking forward to writing this next chapter for some time. -rubs hands together, then casts a glance at the story notes- It better not be jinxed now…


	7. A Minor Incident

**AN:** Tried to update before finals, then got sick. Then my computer died a loud, screeching death. Yeah. There went that idea. (I am _so_ glad the important stuff was backed up. I didn't know computers could make noises like that.)

The story rating has been raised, due to a bit of violence in this chapter. Don't think it's too bad but, well, just to be safe.

* * *

There was an air of tension about Diagon Alley today.

It was not as prominent as in Harry's time, particularly when compared to the last two years, but it was there. The people moved with a hurried sense of purpose, few stopping to chat or window shop as was the norm. Nervous energy snapped in the air, making Harry feel jittery.

But there was something missing, something he usually associated with an impending attack. He couldn't quite place it. Something was just… off.

A woman jostled past him. Harry nearly lost his hold on the cage he carried.

Tom's Hogwarts letter had come at breakfast the day before. At first the boy seemed startled to see an owl; it was the first they'd gotten at the house. Then his eyes lit on the Hogwarts seal and he lunged, tearing the letter from the bird roughly. Harry gave the disgruntled owl the largest piece of bacon on Tom's plate as recompense.

Naturally, Tom was eager to pick up his school supplies as soon as possible. Harry agreed to go the next day: the day before his birthday. He'd buy himself an owl- he'd begun to think it would be a good idea to get one before the new school year started, just in case he needed to be in contact- and make sure they got ice cream and a good lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and call it birthday celebration enough.

He'd not been expecting the crowd. Apparently, the day after the Hogwarts letters went out was the most popular day for supply shopping. Harry didn't know if this was another thing that had changed over the years or simply something he'd been oblivious of in his own time.

"What are you going to name it?"

"Him." Harry corrected, glancing down at the handsome Northern Hawk Owl, making sure he hadn't been overly jostled by the bump.

"What are you going to name _him_?"

"I don't know yet. What's left on the list?"

"Books. If you're not going to name it I get to."

"No, I'm naming him." Harry frowned. "The bookstore will be even more crowded than the alley." He didn't want to deal with an owl in a crowded shop. The broom had been annoying enough when the place was practically empty.

"Guess I should name you so I can let you head home, then," Harry told the owl absently. He thought for a moment, staring at the dark brown feathers, lighter patterns spread across the wings, chest and face, and the large amber eyes. He smiled nostalgically. "Wolf."

"Wolf." Tom sounded dubious.

"Mm-hm."

"You're naming an owl Wolf."

"Yes. Werewolves have amber eyes, like his." And Harry thought he'd get even more odd looks if he named the owl Moony.

"His eyes are yellow."

"They're close enough. Right, Wolf, let's give you a trial run," Harry held up the cage so he could meet the owl's bright gaze. "We live on the Potter Grounds outside Godric's Hollow Village. Head on home and make yourself at comfortable in the owlery above the smaller house."

The owl hooted. Harry took that as agreement. He opened the cage door, and the newly christened Wolf fluttered out, disappearing quickly over the shop roofs.

A camera flash went off. Harry flinched on reflex.

He spotted the culprits across the street in front of the ice cream parlor, a small group of kids just under Hogwarts age, giggling loudly as they played with what was undoubtedly a brand new camera.

Harry looked away again, steadfastly ignoring the pang in his chest.

Tom cast him the sideways glance that Harry was beginning to recognize as the one he used when he wasn't sure what to make of the way Harry was acting.

Harry's photos were back on the mantle, this time under more than one protection designed to keep one person in particular from getting his hands on them again. The tear lines were still visible, despite Harry's best efforts to repair them, and the picture's occupants moved jerkily around the lines, but at least they hadn't disappeared entirely as Harry had half feared they would.

He shifted the cage to his other hand, scanning the crowd and irritably shifting his weight so he could flex his knee.

If he'd known it would be this crowded, he'd have waited to come until the middle of the week, never mind gifting himself with a birthday outing.

"Your knee again?" Tom asked casually, not looking at him. The old injury was a somewhat touchy subject, and Harry's unpredictable temper had not improved over the past week.

He was growing increasingly worried and therefore trying all the harder to convince himself that there was nothing wrong.

He knew Horcruxes were not meant to be cast into something that already had a soul, but had no idea what a Horcrux would do to something living. For all he knew, Nagini had not been nearly as nasty before Voldemort turned her into a Horcrux. He never spent too long thinking about it, as it was a moot point; he had no way to access the few books that existed on the subject.

But it was entirely possible that there was another explanation. His change in appearance could have been spell backlash. The trip through time could be responsible for the headaches and setback on his knee injury as well.

Until there was no other choice, he would keep the worries to himself.

He couldn't go to Dumbledore with his concerns. The man knew none of his history. He would hear the word Horcrux and that would be the end of Harry's peaceful life of anonymity. Besides, Dumbledore had Grindelwald to worry about. Harry could take care of his own problems without adding to the Professor's own.

And when said problems refused to be dealt with, he could do a damn good job of ignoring them.

* * *

The stop at Flourish and Blotts was fortunately quite quick, as this time they did not have to buy a small library. Harry caught Tom lingering in the history section and pulled him along before he could select anything other than the required textbook.

Tom had spent two days unsuccessfully attempting to break through the enchantments keeping him out of the books at home. When that failed, he tried to sneak out of the house via the floo in order to find books someplace else. Unfortunately for Tom, Ron's chess piece began screaming obscenities at the top of its lungs when he tried to open the floo bag without permission.

After that, a pair of enchanted candlesticks from Tom's collection of trophies were stuck to the bathroom counter.

Tom absolutely hated seeing his things around the house and being unable to move them. He never said as much, but Harry didn't miss the way his fingers twitched every time he saw them. Consequently it was Harry's new favorite punishment.

When Tom finally ran out of ideas to get around the lockdown, he overturned the library table in a fit of temper. The yo-yo stayed firmly stuck to it.

Tom cracked open the book on etiquette and had it finished less than a day later.

To the boy's consternation, when Harry released the library and Tom's school books, _Pureblood Histories _remained unmovable. It was counted among the 'trophies', none of which Tom had won back yet. The implication that those could be gotten back with a bit of help around the house sparked another explosive fight that resulted in Harry storming up to his room before he really lost his temper and did something he regretted.

Quite obviously, Tom had yet to read that particular book. Harry wasn't about to let him cheat by looking for something similar here.

* * *

They were just leaving the bookstore when a pair of explosions some distance down the alley rocked the ground. Harry whirled around, wand dropping into his hand as screams replaced the usual background chatter. The crowd became a stampeding mass of panic as people pushed and shoved to get away from the disturbance. Harry grabbed Tom by the upper arm and pulled them up against the nearest building, looking intently up and down the street.

They were in a bad spot. The explosions had come from in front of them, in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, blocking them from the only physical exit and apparition point on the alley. He didn't know which shops, if any, had working floo's. Knockturn Alley was at their backs. The next attack could come from anywhere.

Another explosion went off further up the street, followed closely by one behind them. Harry pulled Tom down with him as part of a crate flew over their heads and smashed to pieces against the side of a building.

"Come on," Harry tugged Tom with him along the shop front. The streets were rapidly clearing as people took refuge, but there were still plenty of people about to provide target practice for their attackers.

Tom lagged, neck twisting this way and that. He looked more excited than afraid. Harry's grip tightened on his arm.

A ball of purple magical fire streaked towards them. It impacted with the storefront immediately behind them and exploded, sending glass and brick flying.

Harry jerked himself and Tom to the nearest cover, a slight gap between two stores. It was too narrow to really be an alley but to wide to be called anything else. Shrapnel tore at Harry's back and legs as he pushed Tom ahead of him into the gap.

One other man was already there, a balding wizard whose jaw was set determinedly, wand clenched in trembling hands. He was obviously terrified, but at least he had enough of his wits about him to have taken decent cover.

Harry pushed Tom a bit farther down the alley and joined the other man at its mouth. He rotated his shoulders, wincing. His back stung but the cuts were minor; they'd avoided the worst of the explosion.

"Watch the rooftops; they might try to attack from above," he instructed. More directions came to mind, directions he'd said and heard so many times that they rolled through his mind with all the rote ease of a pre-game Quidditch pep talk.

But there was no time to give them; the street had gone eerily silent, save the wails of a few frightened children. The first wave was done. Harry settled himself into position for the second.

It came bare seconds later.

The first spell tore in from the left. It hit a woman who'd been hiding behind the inadequate shelter of a peddler's cart. The little boy she'd been standing over screamed for his Mummy, frantically shaking the unresponsive woman's shoulders.

Harry's jaw locked.

Fury roared through his veins, fury he channeled into his magic; this was no place for anger to be clouding his judgment.

A quartet of wizards in slate grey robes appeared from between two stores on the tail end of the curse, hoods pulled forward far enough to obscure their faces. They stayed low, sticking to available cover, firing curses at everything that moved and occasionally at things that didn't.

The leading wizard ducked a blue curse fired from behind Harry, some distance further up the street. Harry took the opportunity to fire a volley of hexes. Only one hit. The man jerked backward, clawing at his face as blisters spread rapidly over his visible skin.

His partner moved forward, allowing the injured man to pull back to better cover, and was immediately attacked by Harry. The man sharing his cover finally opened fire with a tripping jinx, and streaks of light again sailed from further up the street.

The man dodged the first few spells and blocked the next two before returning fire. Harry jerked back as a jet of light nearly grazed his cheek. The man beside Harry screamed, his wand clattering to the ground. He clutched his limp wrist to his chest. It looked as though every bone in his wand hand had been crushed.

"Tom! Help him back!" Harry snapped, not daring to take his attention off the wizard he was rapidly exchanging spells with. A piece of the wall above his head exploded. Rubble rained down on his head. Harry ducked.

Harry's opponent finally fell back with a cry, clutching at his abdomen. Harry hadn't hit him. He could only assume it was the unknown ally behind him.

Tom slipped up beside him, taking the injured wizard's spot just behind the building corner. "He fainted," the boy said, disgust coloring his voice. Harry shot him a sharp look.

A curse from above hit the ground between them, sending shrapnel pelting against their legs.

Harry snarled and whirled back around, Seeker's eyes catching the flash of a dark cloak on a roof caddy corner to their cover.

"_Protego!" _the shield deflected the next curse with time to spare.

The little boy just down the street was still wailing over his mother's body.

More figures in grey robes flooded the street. The defenders were scattered, panicked, and mostly unfamiliar with actual life and death combat. The attackers were few in number but organized. They moved forward with little to no opposition.

They would be on the child in moments.

"Tom! Cover me!" Harry snapped. He stepped forward, out of the cover of the alley. _"Accio!" _The boy sailed strait to his arms, his frightened wailing cutting off abruptly at the shock of being suddenly tugged off his feet.

Harry spun back into the alley, a curse impacting with the corner of the building where his head had been moments before. He jogged backwards a few steps and set the child down where he wouldn't be stepped on, then spun back around to help Tom.

The rescue, quick as it had been, cost him. He'd obviously been seen; grey robes converged on their location with a vengeance. Tom dodged side to side, sending back a rain of retaliatory curses but never once raising a shield.

Against real opponents, he only lasted seconds.

A bright flare of light made them both cringe. Tom flinched backwards.

Harry heard the incantation for the bone shattering curse an instant too late.

Tom gasped quietly and stumbled into the wall.

He clutched at his shoulder, face pale. He started to fall and leaned against the side of the building, bracing himself. His foot slipped and bumped his wand, fallen from slack fingers, out of his reach.

His foot slipped again and this time Tom slid down the wall to the ground, huddling there, blinking rapidly.

"Move back!" Harry snapped at him, but could do little to make him obey as light again flashed in his peripheral vision. A shield went up in a flash. He lowered it again as soon as the curse bounced off it, moving to stand in front of Tom despite the fact that it put him almost completely out of the alleys cover.

The curse had come from the same man that hurt Tom. Harry snarled.

The man wasn't the only one throwing hexes in Harry's direction, but that mattered little. By the time his opponent had blocked his third curse Harry's fury-fuelled magic fairly crackled across his skin.

His fourth curse ripped straight through the hasty shield that tried to stop it, tearing deeply into the grey-clad wizard's chest.

The man staggered back, stunned. One disbelieving hand went to his chest, where a red stain spread steadily across the slate grey robes. He slumped to the ground and lay still.

An anguished cry tore from the throat of one of the attackers and Harry became aware of his surroundings again.

His knee throbbed painfully. He'd moved forward, completely out of the alley's cover.

At some point the cover fire from further up the street had cut off as the person or people there were forced to deal with hostiles coming from the other direction.

An explosion to his side made his ears ring. Harry threw up a shield blindly, knowing his opponent would not pass up the opportunity caused by his disorientation.

Curses rebounded off the shield, followed closely by a bludgeoning hex from the side that threw Harry off his feet. He was back up in an instant, staggering slightly as his knee threatened to buckle.

Two hexes came from opposite directions and Harry threw himself backwards, stumbling again. He couldn't quite remove himself from the path of the second one. Fire seared up his bad leg.

Harry barely kept his feet.

The sounds of fighting up the street suddenly increased. Harry caught a glimpse of a red beard and flamboyant robes. Dumbledore. Help was almost here.

Another curse, screamed with same tone as the voice that had yelled in denial of the last wizard's death. With Harry's luck, he had likely been a close friend of the dead wizard and was now hell-bent on retribution.

Harry overbalanced on the dodge, twisting as he fell to avoid yet another hex. His elbow scraped painfully across the ground. Harry didn't slow, flipping himself over, a shield ready but this time unnecessary. His opponent's attention was on something else.

The man's eyes narrowed in calculated cruelty and Harry realized too late that he'd moved from his protective position in front of Tom.

Harry's heart stopped.

No. No, not again, not again, he wouldn't lose the one thing he had here!

The boy Harry had been, the teenager who couldn't let anyone die if he was at all capable of saving them, took action once again. He threw himself forward. The green light of the killing curse streaked towards him.

_A high pitched scream _

A strangled shout of denial tore itself from Tom's lips. The boy lurched, arm dragging limply. Too slow.

_It isn't the same thing, Harry _

_I don't see how it's any different, Mione _

Green was coming, filling his vision. He gathered himself, mind reacting to the threat his body well knew by now.

_If you cark it, mate, I'm going to_

_Sorry, Ron_

His scar seared and he suddenly knew what he'd been missing earlier. Pain. A headache, to warn him of Voldemort's mood. There was no Voldemort here to warn him. No Voldemort to kill him. Harry wanted to laugh, but the green light was there and hitting him, dropping him to the ground as his scar screamed with the pain of it.

He though he heard Tom, frantically calling his name over and over, and maybe a flash of red hair as Dumbledore's voice shouted a spell, but he couldn't be sure because something in his head was ripping, and tearing, and it _hurt, _and he was fading into blissful, painless darkness.

* * *

**End Chapter**

Not as polished as I'd like it to be, but I figure you've waited long enough. Next chapter shouldn't be so long in coming.


	8. St Mungo's

**AN:** Obviously, the 'minor incident' last chapter was not so minor, and was titled that as I just couldn't think of a good title that wouldn't totally give away what was going to happen. And holy crud; this story has now gotten well over a hundred reviews. You guys are amazing. Thank you!

I've gotten a beta, but don't think we've quite got every wrinkle worked out, so this is getting posted even though she hasn't looked over it yet. -ducks head guiltily-

* * *

Harry woke up in St. Mungo's. He knew this almost immediately. Only a hospital could have such narrow beds and a quick glance, blurry though it was, told him he was not at Hogwarts, as the walls were not stone grey but blinding white. That quick glance also informed him that he had the world's worst headache and should not be attempting to open his eyes again any time soon. 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly. The skin on his forehead pulled. He frowned. He wanted to feel his forehead, but his arms felt heavy. His fingers twitched.

Someone entered the room. "Mr. Potter?"

It was a woman. She sounded surprised.

"Mr. Potter. You're awake."

Was he? His head felt odd. Perhaps this was another vision? But no, he'd stopped having those…

Her footsteps came closer, right up to his bedside.

"How are you feeling?" Harry tried to tell her his head hurt. The sounds came out weird; the words all slurred together with the _s_ sounds drawn out. His tongue felt clumsy.

"Are you in any pain?"

"Yeah..." There, that was barely legible. Wait, wrong word. What was the other one? He couldn't remember. Understandable? That worked.

Something glass pressed against his lips. Had the woman explained what it was? The glass tipped insistently. Harry drank.

The headache receded. Harry still felt oddly disjointed. Maybe because the world was all black? He opened his eyes. Better. Everything was fuzzy, but that was okay because his head still hurt a bit. He thought it might be too much to see all that white in stark detail.

He tilted his head to the side. There was a tall, vaguely human shaped lime green blur, topped by a splotch of dark brown. St. Mungo's healers wore green. The floor for animal attacks wasn't nearly this bright, though. Or maybe it was, in this time?

There was something he needed to ask. The skin on his forehead pulled again as his brow wrinkled in thought. He tried touching it. This time his arm made it halfway there before it became too heavy and dropped to the sheets.

"You shouldn't be moving, Mr. Potter. I'm surprised you're awake at all, after the night you had."

"Wha--?"

"You were in the wash of the killing curse," she said gently, as though breaking heart-stopping news to him. Harry couldn't see how this was bad news.He'd beenhit with it before and survived. "It came close enough to partially rip your magical core away from your body. Your readings have been all over the place, and your magic is still resettling. It's acting as though foreign magic is being integrated into your system. It may take a bit of time for you to recover."

What was she talking about? Harry was sure he remembered it hitting his forehead dead on. Or was that before? Besides, killing curses didn't do what she was describing; either they missed or they killed you. Didn't she know anything?

But that wasn't the question he wanted to ask. Why was she answering the wrong question?

His forehead itched. So did his back, and elbow, and legs, and there was a strange sensation coming from his knee, like it should hurt but didn't. But his forehead was the most annoying. Harry's hand fluttered upward again. The healer caught it and pressed in gently back to the bed.

"You received a strange cut, Mr. Potter. That's what you're feeling on your forehead. It was resisting treatment. You may have a permanent scar."

Well, Harry knew that. What kind of an idiot did she think he was? But there was another question, too. Something important he was forgetting. Something to do with his scar but not…

Wait. Scar. "Tom?"

Her head moved. Harry wished he could make out her expression. Why couldn't he- oh. Glasses. He wore glasses. Where were they?

"Your brother will be fine, and is actually in better shape than you are. Some of the nerves in his arm were damaged, and he is being kept unconscious while they are repaired. His bones were damaged badly enough that we had to remove some of them. They will be re-grown as soon as his nerves are repaired. It will all take a bit of time. We'll most likely keep him here for a few days of observation, but he will make a full recovery,You, however." She shook her head. "We expected you to be out for at least a few more days. I can't believe you're lucid enough to be asking all these questions," she added under her breath.

"How long-?"

"You've been unconscious for a little over twenty-four hours. It is July 31st, about eight o'clock in the evening."

Birthday. He hadn't missed his birthday.

For some reason Harry found this hysterically funny. He laughed. It made his head start to hurt again but he couldn't stop. "Happy birthday to me," he chortled.

"Maybe lucid was the wrong word," she muttered. "Here, Mr. Potter. You need to rest a bit more. Questions can wait. Take one more potion for me. There you go."

Sleep. That sounded like a good idea. Maybe more sleep would make the funny feeling in his head go away.

Harry yawned and let the potion carry him under.

* * *

When he woke the next morning, there was someone sitting beside his bed. If the puffy armchair didn't give away who it was, the brilliantly colored robes did. 

"Professor Dumbledore."

"Mr. Potter."

Harry groped around on the bedside table. His glasses were the only thing on it aside from a glass of water and his wand.

His head didn't hurt this morning. Actually, he felt blissfully numb, if still with a bit of that strange sense of mental disconnect.

"Tom?"

"He woke up earlier this morning. They are preparing to administer Skele-gro now, I believe."

"That boy, and the man. Are they-?"

"They have both been treated and are doing fine."

Harry frowned. "Was he there?"

"Who?"

"You know, _him_. Grindelwald."

"Ah. No, Grindelwald was not actually present. Several of his followers were, however. The man who attempted to kill you has been identified as one of his chief lieutenants, and is currently being held for questioning. His capture was a fairly significant victory for our side, one which you are in large part responsible for."

Harry groaned and flopped an arm across his brow, then winced and moved it a bit higher as it brushed his still-sensitive scar. At least his limbs seemed to be working properly again.

Just what he needed, reason for another Dark Lord to have a personal vendetta against him.

It occurred to Harry that this Dumbledore would not likely be visiting him simply to check up on him. He wondered how offended the professor would be if he asked what he wanted straight out. His Dumbledore likely would not have minded at all. This one, however…

The person in question interrupted his ponderings with a brisk "My, this room is rather gloomy, isn't it?"

Well, he'd already known there would be no one to bring him some silly little thing like cards, but did the man have to rub it in?

"There," the professor sounded satisfied. Harry looked over and stared. A huge potted plant, complete with large orange flowers of a type that Harry did not recognize, now dominated the bedside table.

"Your glass of water will be inaccessible to you for the next several hours, I'm afraid, but I'm sure the healers would be more than willing to get you another one. It does add a bit of color to the place, now doesn't it?"

Harry touched one of the leaves. As he'd expected, it felt real. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Think nothing of it, my boy."

Harry let his hand drop. "The healer told me I was in the wash of a killing curse."

"Yes, that is what they were told had happened."

Harry stared at him. Dumbledore smiled.

"Fortunately there were not many witnesses, and even fewer who were in any position to see what happened clearly. The public story is that the curse came extraordinarily close to hitting you, without actually doing so, and the wash of it nearly pulled your magic from your body."

And anyone who thought they saw otherwise would either keep their mouth shut or be faced with public ridicule. After all, everyone knew that no one could actually survive the killing curse.

"I, however, was one of those witnesses with a very clear view of what happened, and thus know differently, as does young Tom." He leaned forward. "I am most curious to know how you survived a curse no wizard has ever found the counter to."

Harry cleared his throat nervously. "I'm not sure this is the best place to talk about that."

Dumbledore waved a nonchalant hand. "I have ensured we will not be interrupted, nor overheard. I would be negligent in my duties if I did not require a satisfactory explanation from you as soon as possible, Mr. Potter. Not only are we at war, but you have one of my students under your care. I cannot in good conscience let you leave without understanding what you have done to yourself to so cleanly counter that specific unforgivable."

Well, when he put it that way…

A part of Harry welled up in deep resentment. He didn't want to tell anyone. Who was Dumbledore to put him in such a position? Harry squashed the feeling, struggling to sit up. There was no way he'd tell this story while lying flat on his back.

Dumbledore waved his wand at the bed and the back tilted up, allowing Harry to rest against it in a semi-reclining position. Harry settled back into with a soft sigh, wondering where to start.

"I told you my parents died."

Dumbledore nodded.

"They weren't killed out on a battlefield or anything like that. A wizard came to their home. He had intended to kill all of us." Harry paused, swallowing harshly. He almost wished Dumbledore had left thatglass of water as it was..."He'd... done things to himself, in preparation for a ritual. Killing us was supposed to be the last thing he did before completing it.

"You know how the killing curse works, right?"

A red eyebrow raised. "Yes. Feelings of intense hatred are gathered. Like in most Dark Arts, the magic summoned by such destructive feelings takes a small portion of the caster's soul and channels it into the victim-"

"Where the soul shard latches onto the victim's soul and effectively blasts it from the body," Harry finished, nodding.

"Mum tried to protect me." Harry paused again. He'd never had to tell this story. Doing so was harder than he'd thought it would be. "Specifically said she was willing to die for me, right before he killed her. Messed his spell all up. Only thing that can counter death is the willing sacrifice of life, you know? It jump started the magic he'd put on himself. Then he tried to kill me. Boy, did he get a surprise," Harry laughed without humor.

Dumbledore was watching him intently. Harry went on, before he lost his nerve.

"The ritual he was preparing for had loosened a good chunk of his soul. When he tried to kill me, that little piece that should have torn lose from him didn't. It kept pulling at the lose part of his soul, transferring it to me, until the power built up so much that it backlashed and broke the connection.

"We didn't have any way to know for sure, but Hermione- that's the muggle-born friend I told you about?- reckoned his soul latched onto mine without actually merging with it. They were touching just enough to keep it there and give me some of his power." Not to mention a mental link and abilities like Parseltongue.

Dumbledore nodded, the very picture of infinite patience.

"We figured out a way for me to deflect certain dark spells to that soul only. If it worked right, the killing curse was supposed to pull that soul out of my body instead of taking mine." Actually, they'd created it to work the other way, with Harry not on the defensive but the offensive, pulling the magicfor the unforgivable not from his own soul, but from Voldemort's Horcrux.

"'Course, we weren't able to really test it. We got into another- situation-earlier this summer. I had to leave right after that happened. It- it was supposed to go away completely the first time I had to… use it like that. I'm not sure what happened, but there was still enough of it for it to protect me again the other day."

"And the foreign magic the healers noticed?"

Harry closed his eyes against a wave of panic. There was only one thing that could be, wasn't there? "Leftovers, most likely," he whispered, "whatever parts of it that were anchoring it to me in the first place."

Dumbledore was frowning, tapping the tips of his fingers together.

"Mr. Potter. I can only think of a handful of magical circumstances that would create the effect you are describing, and they all involve the darkest of magic."

"Well, yeah, it was Dark Arts. But I wasn't the one practicing it."

"I did not say you were. I am concerned, however, as it appears that you have been in very intimate contact with it, and quite possibly now havethesoulof a person willing to practice the blackest aspects of magic being imbedded in the very core of your being. Not only that, you are fully capable of manipulating it."

Harry swallowed. Put like that, it didn't sound so good. But then, he'd known it wouldn't.

"Sir, I can't… it's not that simp- this isn't the place to-"

"I agree." Dumbledore stood. "Very well. I will look into this more closely. Do expect to hear from me again in the near future."

That sounded ominous. "Yes, sir."

"I am extending a good deal of trust here, you understand."

"Yeah. I—thank you, sir."

He nodded. "Expect me to be in contact soon, Mr. Potter."

And with that, Dumbledore transfigured his chair back to the plain, hospital issued one and left the room.

* * *

Harry glared. 

The chair didn't care. Neither did the healer.

"There is no way I'm riding in that- that- _that_!"

"Yes you are, Mr. Potter."

"I can walk!" Harry insisted. "I need _some _exercise, right? I can get it by walking to Tom's room!"

"It's too far."

"It's right up the hall!"

"That's too far. Your knee took some very heavy damage. What with the previous injury we found, you are going to have a long recovery time as it is without aggravating it unnecessarily. You cannot afford to walk any farther than it takes to get across this room for at least a few more days. If you want to see your brother, you are riding in this." The last portion of the sentence was punctuated by a quick jab of the man's wand towards the portable chair sitting quietly in front of him.

Harry grumbled, but he wanted to see for himself that Tom was alright, so he slid carefully off the bed. The healer nudged the chair and it walked right up to Harry. He sat down slowly.

* * *

The chair had a bumpy, rocking gait, not unlike a tamer version of Buckbeak's ungainly stride. It was not one of the worst ways to travel, but it was fairly embarrassing. Harry was very glad when they stopped outside a door that looked just like all the others and his escort pushed it open, leading the way into the room. 

Tom was reclining in his bed, one of the books they'd purchased just before the attack open on his lap. He looked up as they came in, gave the healer a disinterested glance, and sat up straighter when he caught sight of Harry.

Harry absently noted the healer leaving again, closing the door as he left, but was too caught up in making sure that Tom was really okay to truly care. The boy was holding his book with his left hand only, the right one apparently still stiff. As it had only been a day since the bones were regrown, Harry could understand.

Tom shifted. Harry cleared his throat.

"Reading ahead?"

"Yes."

"What subject?"

"Charms."

"Oh."

Silence.

"Why did you do that?" Tom blurted.

Harry fidgeted, uncomfortable. "I would have done it for anyone. I- you're family."

"Oh." Tom looked down, a slight frown on his face.

He didn't get it. Why didn't Tom get it? Harry stood up, suddenly feeling like he could panic at the slightest provocation. Tom's bed was close enough that he didn't have to walk anywhere, just lean forward a bit to rest his weight on the mattress.

"Don't you understand? We're family, now, and that- I couldn't just- Tom, you could have died, dammit!" Desperate to make Tom understand, Harry reached out and snatchedthe boyinto agruff hug.

Tom stiffened.

Harry let go abruptly and fell back into his chair.

They both went silent.

Harry tugged at his short hospital robe. It had ridden up a bit when he sat. Once it was covering his knees again,no longer bunched up under him, Harry risked a look up.

Tom stared, wide eyes focused down, towards Harry's legs. Harry smoothed the fabric down again.

Curse scars were notoriously difficult to get rid of. The nastier the curse, the harder the scars were to heal or hide.

Harry's knee was still marked with the angry red lines that traced over his tendons and ligaments, covering almost the entirety of his knee and radiating outward, up and down his leg before tapering off into unblemished skin.

"That's why you have trouble walking sometimes? The scar is huge!"

"Thank you, I know."

"It must have hurt." Tom rubbed his shoulder.

"Yeah. It did." Harry could think of nothing else to say.

Tom rubbed his shoulder again, shooting a glance at Harry's forehead. Harry knew what he was going to ask before his mouth even opened.

"How did you-"

"Not here. I'll explain later, at home. I promise."

Tom nodded.

Uncomfortable silence proceeded to reign.

* * *

Harry scowled at the cane. 

"You could end up needing it permanently if you injure that knee again," the medi-wizard warned, as though he were reading Harry's mind. More likely he was reading Harry's expression. "I can't guarantee you will recover fully, not with such a severe injury so soon after the first. You shouldn't need that cane for long, but you will have a limp for some time. It should fade eventually if you don't injure the knee again."

Harry nodded absently. He'd said all that before.

"You really should not even be leaving yet."

He'd said that, too.

Harry adjusted his robe. He was back in the clothes he'd been wearing the day they visited the alley. Fortunately, someone had been kind enough to clean them.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm not going to suddenly drop into a coma. There is nothing more you can do for my other injuries. I am going home."

Tom chose that moment to come striding down the hall. Hisarmwas fully recovered, according to the staff, and the boy perfectly ready to be discharged. Harry, who was perfectly ready to go home whether or not the healers agreed with him, had taken the opportunity to say he was leaving, too. They couldn't very well expect him to leave his younger brother alone in the house, could they?

Tom smiled disarmingly at the healer. "Don't worry, sir. I'll make sure he doesn't overexert himself."

Harry snorted. "Right. Let's go."

* * *

**Chapter End**

And there's my little theory on what happened "that night." Hope it satisfies. Or at least makes sense.


	9. Past and Present

Tom sat up in bed abruptly. It was the middle of the night.

Something had woken him.

A vague noise reached his ears. He stilled his breathing, listening intently. There it was again. It sounded like moaning, or mumbling, coming from across the hall.

Tom slipped out of bed, creeping across the near-black room easily. Amazing how quickly this place obtained the same familiarity he'd only ever felt at Hogwarts. He'd been able to navigate his room at the orphanage in the dark, of course, but he'd never felt any sort of attachment to the place, not like at Hogwarts, not like a home.

Home. It still felt odd to hear Harry refer to it like that, and know he meant that it was home to Tom, too.

He stopped at his door, opened it a crack, and listened.

Muffled thrashing sounds came from Harry's room. The elder boy's door was slightly ajar, giving Tom pause. Harry never slept with his door open. He must haven been very tired to forget to close it. He'd looked exhausted yesterday after the short trip from St. Mungos. Tom knew he really did need at least a few more days of bedrest.

He slipped across the hall and peered in. Harry was twitching on his bed, obviously having a nightmare. Tom shifted his weight nervously.

Indecisive, he wavered a moment more, then stepped away from the door. He shuffled back a step, eying Harry's door as though expecting it to burst open of its own volition. The thrashing from Harry's room stopped. Tom's shoulders relaxed in relief and, thinking nothing more of it, he slipped back into his own room.

* * *

Harry woke the next morning and immediately ran himself a bath. Hospital stays always made him feel filthy despite the fact that St. Mungos staff used spells to 'wash' their patients.

He'd had a nightmare last night, the first he could remember since arriving here, but it wasn't too bad. Just a normal bad dream, and those rarely bothered him nowadays. Not nearly enough to spoil his good mood this morning, at least.

In fact, he felt cheerful, ridiculously energized, as though recently cured of an illness he'd had for so long that he'd forgotten what it felt like to be healthy.

His knee still hurt. It obviously hadn't miraculously recovered overnight, but the bath helped ease the ache, and Harry was in too good a mood to care much.

Dressing quickly, he ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing them briefly over the scar that hopefully had split open for the last time, and fetched the cane. It was plain, light in color, completely unlike that black snake-headed thing Lucius Malfoy used to carry around, else Harry would have refused to use it outright.

Making sure there was nothing else he would need today, as he did not plan to use the stairs any more than was absolutely necessary, he closed and locked his bedroom door.

The stairs took longer than normal to get down, which did not surprise him. What did surprise him, though, was the sight of the kitchen table.

Harry paused in the doorway. There was porridge on the table. And toast. And two place settings.

"I made breakfast." Tom seemed unusually uncertain.

"Yeah. I can see that."

Harry limped to his normal place and sat down. Tom set a tea tray on the table and sat as well, handing Harry a cup.

"Er. Thanks."

Tom shrugged. They tucked in.

A few minutes later, there came a tapping on the kitchen window. Harry started to get up, exhaled slowly, and eased himself down again.

"Could you get that please, Tom?"

He wrinkled his nose a bit, but stood and let the owl in without protest. A barn owl alighted on the table, followed closely by an agitated Wolf. Harry sighed when he saw the Hogwarts seal and took the note, opening it to glance at the signature. Sure enough, it was from Dumbledore.

Wolf clicked his beak angrily as Harry gave the visiting owl a scrap of toast. The barn owl fluttered over to the windowsill, obviously waiting for a reply to take back.

Harry held out some toast for his own owl. "I'm sorry we took so long coming back, Wolf. I hope you found plenty of food in the forest?" The owl eyed him reproachfully. He snatched the bread from Harry's hand and flapped up to rest on the back of the chair beside him, sending the other bird a look that must be quite similar to the one mice were treated to just before they became dinner.

Harry ran his fingers over the owl's head with one hand, holding the letter open with the other.

Tom eyed the gesture.

"I still don't see why having a snake would be such a problem. You're a _Parselmouth_; you can't be afraid of them."

"'Course I'm not afraid of them. You and I both know you wouldn't be happy with some garden snake, and I doubt they'd let you have anything more dangerous at Hogwarts."

"How would you know what kind of snake I want?"

"I've spoken with some of the ones in the pet shop." Discreetly, of course. "Might as well have been talking to a toad. The conversation wouldn't have been any more interesting. I did offer to let you get something else."

"There's no sense in both of us having an owl. And no self-respecting Slytherin would own a cat. Feline's are much too close to Gryfindor's house mascot."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Have it your way, then."

Tom frowned and peered at the letter. Harry tilted it up so he couldn't read it. "It's from Professor Dumbledore."

"Him again?"

"He told me he'd be writing." But this _was_ rather soon. They'd only gotten back yesterday, after all. He scanned the letter. "Hm."

"What's it say?"

"We talked a bit while I was still in the hospital. He wants to meet to finish the conversation."

"Interrogation, you mean."

Harry sent him a sharp glance and absently waved a hand to call a quill.

His magic surged; Harry could almost swear it felt _giddy_, and then a hole exploded in the kitchen wall.

Wolf shrieked, Tom ducked, Harry jerked his hand back, and the quill embedded itself point first in one of the kitchen's wooden cabinets.

His magic settled as quickly as it had flared.

"Um..."

There was white power in Tom's hair. When he sat up straight, the small hole in the wall disappeared behind him. Good thing he'd ducked, Harry thought dazedly.

Wolf fluttered from the chair to Harry's shoulder, hooting and flapping and ducking his head over and over. Tom was staring at him.

"I didn't mean to do that."

Tom shook his head. A large chunk of plaster slid off his shoulder and fell into his mostly eaten bowl of porridge.

Using his wand this time, Harry carefully summoned the quill again. It pulled itself from the cabinet face and floated obediently to his hand. Trying not to think too hard, he scribbled a reply on the back of the letter and called the Hogwarts owl back over. It settled cautiously on the far corner of the table. Wolf ruffled his feathers. The owl left as soon as the letter was tied to its leg. Harry couldn't really blame it.

A finger tapping on the table, he stared after the owl until it disappeared. He stood with difficulty. Wolf fluttered from his shoulder and started pecking at his leftovers.

"Harry?"

"Thank you for breakfast, Tom."

Harry shooed Wolf away and started to wave his hand, then changed his mind and pulled out his wand, setting the dishes to washing themselves. The charm worked normally, even if the brush seemed to be scrubbing a bit more vigorously than normal.

"When are you going?"

"This afternoon."

* * *

Later that day, Harry flooed to the Three Broomsticks. Stumbling on the way out, as per usual, he very nearly tripped over his cane. He was going to get tired of that thing fast.

A wave of his hand cleaned off the soot and nearly knocked him off his feet again. He hadn't realized exactly how much wandless magic he'd begun to use until his magic surged every time he did so.

The walk up to the castle was made a good deal longer by his less than perfect physical condition. He supposed he could have taken a potion for the pain, but he didn't like to unless absolutely necessary. Constant, mild aches were something he was quite accustomed to by now, and he didn't want to use potions too often only to discover they didn't work as well as they should when he really needed them.

At the first sight of the castle, he paused and allowed himself to stare. It would only seem natural, after all.

Hogwarts was as magnificent as ever.

It felt so good to be coming here; from the outside, at least, it had hardly changed. Only the absence of the Whomping Willow reminded him that this was not his Hogwarts.

That, and the brilliantly colored robes of the man opening the front gates.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. It is good to see you back on your feet."

"Afternoon, Professor. Thank you."

"Let's head up to my office, shall we?"

"Alright."

* * *

Harry leaned back in his favorite chair at home, a stack of books from Hogwarts' library on the table beside him. Dumbledore had been more than willing to let him borrow them until term started.

He was going to fix those bloody windows if it took him all month.

Tom wandered in.

"How did it go?"

Harry smiled a bit, remembering how wonderful it was to walk down the halls of Hogwarts once again, and how odd for Dumbledore to offer him tea in McGonagall's old office when she was doing the same in his only a few months ago.

Getting to said office was hell, though. That long walk to the castle itself, followed by all those bloody _stairs..._

"It was fine. He just wanted to talk."

Tom made a frustrated noise. Harry grinned.

"We covered... oh, all sorts of stuff. My involvement in the war..."

* * *

Harry scanned the office, picking out the various changes and exchanging pleasantries politely, waiting for Dumbledore to lead up to the real topic. The conversation finally wound around from the war in general to Harry's involvement at Diagon Alley in particular.

"You speak as though you have had special training. As well as you did against some of Grindelwald's best, I very much doubt you would be sitting here with me if what I saw that day was the extent of your abilities. You were not fighting as though you were trained for the situation you found yourself in. To put it shortly, Mr. Potter, you did not fight like an Auror."

That had a simple enough answer. He wasn't. He said so, and explained further.

"Up until about a year ago, most of what I was taught about how to fight came from real life experience. By the time I was getting actual, specific tutelage, there was no time for anything but very specific training. Ron, Hermione and I never went anywhere without each other, so we were mostly taught to fight together, and we practiced together." Essentially, they'd received the official crash course on how to survive an encounter with Death Eaters. Even the dummies he trained against fought like Voldemort's followers did. There just hadn't been time for the Order's Aurors to teach them anything more general.

"I haven't been in an actual fight without Ron and Hermione to back me up in at least a year. Even in that last battle they were right by my side until the very end.

They held off the Death Eaters so I could duel Voldemort without having to worry about being attacked from behind."

"Voldemort?"

"The man who killed my parents. He had a personal grudge against me after that night. Any specific training I got on fighting one on one was focused on defeating him."

In the end, though, it didn't come down to skill, or even power, even though he'd been told he had a fair amount of both. It was the fact that Harry Potter's love of his friends and will to protect them was greater than Voldemort's fear of death.

Harry found it more than a little ironic that he was attempting to teach Tom to recognize the one thing that had allowed Harry to defeat his insane counterpart.

"You make yourself sound very much like an assassin, Mr. Potter."

"I guess you could call it that. I don't like to. It was kill him or be killed by him. The latter wasn't an option. I'd known that much from the start."

"In the battles I was almost never alone. Ron and Hermione were always there. I guess… I've gotten so used to fighting with them… and the men I was fighting in the alley worked so differently than the ones we were up against..."

Death Eaters, Harry decided, may have been crueler than Grindelwald's followers, but they almost never managed to work together in a large scale fight.

* * *

"...Why I came to England..."

* * *

"Our conversation in the hospital the other day left me to draw a conclusion that I did not want to. I could not be certain at first, as I am not familiar with the specifics of the spell, but further research has discounted any other conclusion. You were describing the attempted creation of a Horcrux, were you not?"

Throat dry, Harry nodded. Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them he looked pained.

"I admit there is little I know about Horcruxes specifically. That you have been exposed to one in such a way is something for which you have my most sincere regret.

"However, there is one thing I am most certain of. With the political climate as it currently is, and my admittedly pronounced role in the war thus far, I have a rather extensive network of political allies. I should have been made aware the moment there was a Dark Wizard with both the power and the will it takes to create such a thing as a Horcrux. Grindelwald would certainly never attempt such a thing, yet I have heard of no other recent Dark Lord's.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, where are you really from?"

Harry suddenly felt rather sick to his stomach.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your accent is British, which, I will admit, could have been induced by a spell. Indeed, that is likely what most people who know your professed history believe. But it is not perfect enough to be magically induced. It changes with your speech, as a natural accent would and a magically induced one would not.

"Also, while coming down these corridors you did not seem at all phased by many things that are generally startling to a first time visitor. Half the time it seemed more as if you were leading me than I you. Did you know that you skipped a trip step on the way without being told it was there?

"You speak of a war, but it sounds little like the one I have been fighting in. In fact it sounds so radically different that I do not believe we have been speaking of the same war at all.

"I have my suspicions, but will give you the chance to say it first, if you so desire. So I will ask again. Where are you from, Mr. Potter?"

Harry was frozen. "What do you think?" he managed to whisper.

"I believe you are a time traveler, Mr. Potter."

Harry closed his eyes briefly.

"Am I correct?"

Harry nodded, then tilted his head sideways halfway through the gesture, as if to negate the concession. "But it's more than that," he said, speaking to Dumbledore's desk. He forced himself to look up before he continued, to meet the man's eyes. "There are things here that are... different. The Muggle war ended earlier here. For that matter, I think it started sooner, too. And to my knowledge, the Potter line was never broken where I came from."

"An alternate dimension," Dumbledore mused, "There are theories on such things, of course, but thus far no proof of their actual existence."

"Oh, they exist. Either that or I've just gone crazy."

"That, I doubt. And you say you have come through time, as well?"

Harry nodded. "About fifty years."

"My," the elder man breathed.

Harry sat forward earnestly.

"Please don't tell anyone, sir. If it's really not been done before, dimension travel, I mean, then... that'll draw attention from quarters I'd really rather not have it come from. I've had more than enough danger and fame to last a lifetime. I've finally got the chance to be normal here. _Please_ don't make me give that up."

The voice that replied was full of understanding. "I think that can be arranged, Mr. Potter. However, there are a few more things to discuss.

"I do hope that Grindelwald is not still in power in your time. Unfortunately, if he is not, that leads me to believe there will be another Dark Lord arising."

"Yes."

"Might I ask who?"

Harry was shaking his head before the question was even done. "That's something you don't need to know, Professor."

He seemed taken aback, but Harry could see the cogs in his head turning. Dumbledore's eyes widened as he came to the correct conclusion on his own. Let it not be said that the man was slow.

"Mr. Riddle."

Harry's hands tightened around his teacup.

"I see," Dumbledore murmured, his eyes thoughtful. Harry thought he saw his features start to harden. "I see," the man said again.

"Don't you dare," Harry hissed, voice low. He sat up straight. He might have stood, but it would be far too difficult and might distract him from the immediate problem. "I've killed him once. Don't you dare make me do it again! Not when there's other ways to stop it ever happening. And I'll thank you to refer to him as Riddle-Potter, now."

Dumbledore seemed baffled. He set his cup down, fixing Harry with a speculative look, and ran a hand over his red beard. "I was not going to suggest such a thing. I fear what you may have heard of me, if you think I would condone the murdering of a child.

"As well, you have my apology for the slip of his name. Changing entrenched habits can take a bit of time." Raised eyebrows ensured Harry did not miss the other ways that statement could be applied to the current topic of conversation.

"However, this does leave us with a bit of a quandary. Am I correct in assuming that Mr. Riddle-Potter's alternate self was the one who attempted to split his soul?"

"Yes," Harry said wearily. "And he succeeded. Several times. We had to find and destroy all of them before I could take care of him for good."

* * *

"...What happened in Diagon Alley." Harry's mouth quirked up. "You."

* * *

"This does leave us with another problem, you realize."

There was certainly more than one problem Harry could see with the situation.

"When, precisely, were you taken from your time?"

Harry hadn't given a whole lot of thought to that part of this whole mess, so he focused his memory and came up with a less than startling answer.

"As soon as the connection between us broke. We had a kind of link. I know I felt it snap, right before I... left."

Dumbledore nodded.

"You mentioned that the Horcrux was touching your own soul, but otherwise contained?" Harry nodded.

"Is it possible, Mr. Potter, that the incident which brought you here breached that containment? Such a feat of transportation could not be accomplished on will alone. It would require a great deal of magic, and the the options the Horcrux had- if indeed that is what is responsible for bringing you here in the first place, which I think is highly likely- would have been quite limited."

Horrified realization began twisting in Harry's gut as he anticipated what the man was going to say next.

"It is entirely possible that your trip destroyed whatever it was that was keeping the Horcrux contained and it has been interacting more freely with your magic and soul since you arrived."

Entirely possible? Try bloodly likely.

How could he have forgotten what the diary did to Ginny, the terrible sight of her body lying cold and still on the Chamber floor, the Horcrux draining the life right out of her...

How could he have been so stupid? He'd been frequently tired, yes, but that wasn't surprising. He'd not felt fully rested since... sometime before fifth year, truthfully. Had it really been so long that he'd stopped feeling the difference between constant stress and magical exhaustion?

"It felt like something was tearing. Both times, but it was worse in the alley. It didn't actually knock me unconscious the first time. But then what was it _doing_?" It wouldn't have been trying to make a new body. Tom Riddle already had one.

"While I do not claim to be an expert on the subject; indeed, it is highly likely you hold more knowledge of Horcruxes than I, it is possible the Horcrux was using your magic simply to sustain itself. If it was not cast correctly in the first place, your attempted ejection of it may have dislodged it enough that it became unstable and needed an outside source of magic to continue existing. It is also possible that it was siphoning your magic off into Mr. Riddle-Potter. As his soul is thus far unsplit, it may have searched for some other way to be of use to him. It is very difficult to tell, especially now that it is mostly gone."

"No," Harry shook his head. "It's gone," he whispered. "Completely. I know. I just know. I can feel it, this time. It's like I finally have energy."

No wonder he felt so much better now. With the Horcrux gone his magic and health were finally getting the chance to recover and restore themselves after the terrible strain of a harsh battle and inter-dimensional travel.

"The healers did find some odd things going on with your magical readings."

"Those're fragments. Nothing substantial. It's gone. I know it."

"Very well," Dumbledore did not push the issue, to Harry's gratitude. "But it is possible there were other side affects. If it is not too impertinent of me, what have your feelings been towards young Tom? Unnatural patience with him, perhaps? Any reluctance to punish? Willingness to sacrifice beyond what you normally would?"

Harry stiffened, insulted.

"I am not attempting to take away from what you did for him," Dumbledore was quick to soothe, "Or that all of your actions towards him are not what you would have done for any other. But it is possible you have been under a compulsion of sorts. The affects would have been very subtle, likely playing up advantageous instincts of your own and suppressing those that it perceived as threatening."

All the wandless charms he'd been casting without thinking... how hard he'd found it to get truly angry with the boy... "But it's gone now. It can't do anything anymore."

A slight incline of the head. "One would hope."

* * *

"Me? What about me?"

"My suitability for being your guardian."

Tom's hand jerked abortively. "That never came up before! What changed?"

"It doesn't matter. It's not an issue anymore. We worked it out." Harry paused, speculative. "You're hovering, Tom."

"I am not!" he snapped.

"Uh-huh."

"It sounds like you talked about everything," Tom said sullenly, kicking a little at the floor.

Harry snorted. "Not even remotely. Oh, yeah." He sat up a bit straighter. "I've got a job."

Tom perked up a bit, then deflated again. "_Dumbledore_ got you one."

"Mm-hm."

"At the school?"

"Yeah. Flight instructor. Apparently, the current teacher was thinking about retirement. Wanted to wait until they had a definite replacement lined up."

"How convenient."

Harry ignored that. "And it's part time, so I can study."

"Study for..."

"He's going to set up things so I can take my NEWT's as soon as I'm ready. After that I'll go for a Mastery." Which involved a lot of studying on his own and a very long test at the Ministry.

"A Mastery in what?"

* * *

Dumbledore indicated a small box on the corner of his desk. Harry had noticed it only in passing as he came in.

"Could you tell me what defenses are on this box?"

Harry shook out his wand and held it up. At the affirmative nod, he cast a few basic diagnostic spells. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I could. You want me to...?"

"Please."

"Preservation spells for the box and it's contents... um, it's spelled unbreakable... weatherproofing, almost every locking charm in existence... all keyed to a specific magical signature."

"And can I assume you could get into the box without triggering any of them?"

"Probably, but why bother? You cast all these yourself."

"That I did." He proceeded to flip the lid open and withdrew something small. "Care for a lemon drop?"

"No, thank you."

* * *

"Long term magical defense. Wards, basically."

Tom was silent for a moment. "That's expensive."

"Yes, it is."

* * *

"You're being awfully generous, here."

"Merely looking out for the well-being of my students. Besides, the world could use more people with your talents in times like these."

Harry shook his head, pulling back. He needed employment, true, and the chance to officially complete his schooling was temping, but... "I don't want to be involved in another war. That's not my responsibility here."

"No, no it is not. You have, however, made it your responsibility to look after Tom. To do that you will need an income."

* * *

"He's-" Tom cut himself off.

"Keeping an eye on me? Trying to put me in his debt?"

Tom nodded. Harry shrugged. "I know. It'll be fine." Annoying as it would likely prove to be at times, he couldn't entirely displace the fear that something could still go wrong, could affect his judgment more than it already had been, if Dumbledore's speculations on the Horcrux had any merit. He could put up with a little well-placed paranoia on Dumbledore's part if it meant an outside pair of eyes to make sure his judgment stayed sound.

Harry wasn't taking any chances this time.

"He'll want something in return."

"We made an agreement. I'll do a certain amount of work around the castle when they need it."

"You said the Flight Instructor job is part time?"

"Yeah. I'll be at the school for games, first year flight lessons, major school feasts... otherwise, I'll still be living here."

Tom tilted his head back. "At least you have work now."

"I wasn't planning on being an unemployed layabout forever, you know."

"Are you going to get married?"

"What?" Harry spluttered.

"All the proper Pureblood heirs get married within a few years of leaving school. Are you going to?"

"Well... I'd like to. Eventually. Not for at least few years, though."

Tom nodded, expression hooded. Harry wondered what he was waiting for. He flipped open one of the books. Tom shuffled a bit, frowned, and left the room.

* * *

That night, just before he went to bed, Harry reached out a magical hand and unlocked the book still sitting on Tom's desk.

He wondered how long it would take the boy to notice.

* * *

**End Chapter**

One chapter left. There is, however, a very real possibility of a sequel. I wanted to keep this short, at a length I could finish even if it wasn't well received or I just didn't enjoy writing it. Writing it is definitely fun, and there hasn't been any rotten fruit thrown my way yet, so...

Someone asked if I could direct them to similar stories. I'm pretty sure there are some out there where Tom is reborn in the main timeline and Harry takes him under his wing, but I haven't read them and couldn't really tell you where to find them.

Oh, and _don't_ think that this chapter means everything is going to be smooth sailing from here on out for Tom and Harry.


	10. Summer's End

Tom began acting in an extremely strange manner over the next few days. For most of the summer he'd spent his time sequestered away in his room or in the library, but now it seemed like he was always near, always watching. And he seemed skittish. Attempted conversation didn't help; in fact, it simply confused Harry more. Tom never said that anything was wrong, never mentioned the book or the fact that he would be returning to school soon and several of his things were still inaccessible to him.

He seemed to be waiting for something, but Harry didn't know what.

Harry, meanwhile, found himself uneasy about other things as well. Something about his conversation with Dumbledore, and the subsequent one with Tom, had unsettled him. Or perhaps it was just a delayed reaction from the attack itself and knowing that he still wasn't safe, not even here. He kept himself as busy as possible to keep his mind off things.

The excess activity didn't take long to catch up with him.

His experience in Diagon Alley triggered the equivalent to a magical adrenaline rush that had yet to fade. His magic and mind were feeling great, overriding the physical exhaustion he should have been feeling as his body struggled to recover. His body, however, was in desperate need of rest, which it had been refused. Naturally, it retaliated.

Harry felt ill when he woke one morning several days after his visit to the castle. This was a rare occurrence; he almost never got sick. Injury and rarely anything else caused his many visits to Hogwarts hospital wing.

His stomach roiled as he got up and dressed. By the time he made it down the stairs he was feeling distinctly light-headed.

Halfway across the living room, a strong smell assaulted his nose and he had to pause to fight down a gag before dizzily finishing the short trip.

Tom was in the kitchen, attempting to cook bacon for breakfast. In reality he was burning it, making a fearsome mess of the pan. He jerked when Harry appeared in the doorway. Harry didn't catch any further reactions to his presence as the overbearing smell of the mutilated breakfast set off a war with his stomach that he was fast losing.

He bolted for the downstairs bathroom and flung open the toilet seat.

His stomach felt marginally calmer when he was done, but he was no where near ready to attempt to move anywhere. He hung his head, resisting the temptation to let it rest against the cool rim of the toilet. It hadn't been cleaned in a while and looking at it was making his stomach roll again.

He leaned all his weight on one trembling arm and pulled his glasses off, clutching them in one hand, no doubt covering the lenses in sweaty smears.

Footsteps approached the open bathroom door. Harry swallowed hard and leaned forward again, wrapping the hand holding his glasses around his middle. Water splashed in the sink. He started nevertheless when a damp cloth was draped over his neck.

"Better?" Tom's voice held no inflection at all. Warning alarms went off in Harry's head, quickly pushed aside as he lost control over his stomach again.

The humiliation of doing this in front of Tom made the situation worse than it already was. Tom probably knew it, too, the brat. Harry wished he'd go away.

After one last retch, which consisted of little more than intestinal fluids, Harry sat back cautiously. He pulled the washcloth off his neck and used it to wipe his forehead, then around his mouth.

Harry shakily put his glasses back on. Sure enough, they were covered in smears. Harry squinted, wrinkling his nose, then gave up trying to see clearly and just let his eyes unfocus a bit.

He wasn't completely sure his stomach was done, but he wasn't going to just sit here on the floor, not with Tom in the room. Cautiously, he reached for his cane, fallen just within reach, and began to stand.

He fell back to the floor with a cry of surprise when the cane provided all the stability of a cooked noodle. The limp wood flopped to the floor, right next to Tom's foot. Harry looked up to find a yew wand pointed at his nose.

Suddenly furious, he started to stand without the stupid cane. He made it to a kind of squatting crouch that had Tom taking a nervous step backward before pain drove him back down.

If he'd been in a chair, he might have made it, but from the floor? Not a chance.

Damn, but he felt old.

But it was no matter. He didn't need a wand to protect himself from a twelve year old.

Harry grabbed his cane again. It snapped back into form at his touch. Eyes narrowed and fixed on Tom, Harry began levering himself to his feet.

"_Accio--"_

"_Expelliarmus!" _

Tom stumbled backward from the purposefully underpowered curse, rapping his hip sharply against the doorway. Harry fell back to the floor, snatching the wand out of the air as it sailed past his head. He held it casually, studying the boy. Tom had gone quite pale.

Harry's magic was still erratic, though it did seem to be settling a bit. The fact that Tom hadn't been blown through the opposite wall under the force of his spell was testament to that.

Tom knew Harry's magical power was stronger lately, and that he was fully capable of wandless magic. It puzzled him that Tom would try to attack him, having been on the receiving end of that.

Harry flushed the toilet and closed the lid, pulling himself up onto it. This time, nothing happened to stop him.

He swung the wand between his fingers tantalizingly and perhaps somewhat mockingly, watching Tom's face.

Tom's jaw clamped shut, a poisonous glare his only answer to the unvoiced challenge.

Harry didn't care. He had the upper hand.

Tom's behavior over the past few days had been driving him mad. He was going to get some answers out of the kid, especially now that his ill thought out plan had been diverted and he was off balance. This little attack only solidified his decision. Tom had likely been waiting for a chance to catch Harry off guard before he made his move.

"You didn't tell me!" Tom finally burst out.

"Tell you what?" Harry asked, though he had a good idea. He wondered if Tom had actually noticed the book was open the very night Harry unlocked it and had simply been waiting for an opportune moment to bring the subject up.

"The Gaunts. You didn't tell me."

"The Gaunts? What's so special about the Gaunts?"

Tom's fists trembled. In fact, his whole body was trembling. He gave off an air of panicked, bewildered anger, as though he didn't know how to act and so had reverted to the familiar.

"I'm a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. One of the only ones left. I'm practically his only heir. And you didn't tell me."

"I let you have the book, didn't I?" Harry shook his head. "It doesn't make a difference either way."

"Of course it does!"

"I don't see how."

"I am Salazar Slytherin's heir." Tom said it slowly, as if Harry was the dumbest person on the planet.

"So? I'm part of Gryffindor's line."

Tom's jaw dropped.

"It really doesn't mean all that much, Tom. There might be a few heirlooms floating about in the family that I could get if their current owner dies. In your case, you've inherited one of his magical abilities. But there really isn't much more to it."

"You're… Gryffindor?"

"Yeah. Not the most direct line, and not the only one. Gryffindor's family was a bit more, erm, prolific." Harry started ticking names off on his fingers. "There's the McGonagall's, the Prewitt's, and I think you'll be able to guess the most direct one."

Even though he seemed to be in a state of mild shock, Tom's brain was no less sharp.

"Dumbledore. Of _course_ it's Dumbledore." Glaring, he drew himself up stiffly, saying rather nastily, "Is that why you act like he's God?"

Harry stiffened as well. "I do not-"

"Yes you do!" Tom stomped his foot. "You act like he's back from the dead!"

Harry bit down on his first instinct, which was to say "he _is_."

He knew this Dumbledore had never died. But Merlin, seeing the man that first time earlier this summer… Harry rather thought he'd feel the same way if Sirius came walking back out of the veil, looking as healthy and whole as if he'd never set foot in Azkaban.

Weariness settled over his shoulders. Such a heavy feeling should not be so familiar.

"He's-" Harry cut himself off, pushing his glasses up his nose. How could he explain without going into history Tom hadn't experienced? "He's in a very good position to help us." Or hinder them. And that would only increase in a few years time…

Tom snorted. Harry had the distinct feeling he would have rolled his eyes if it hadn't meant taking them off Harry, who still held his wand.

"How do you think he got to Diagon Alley so fast? He's got friends in the ministry. The public expects him to kill Grindelwald, and whether or not he actually does, he's going to have an insane amount of influence when this is all over. Do you really want a man like that as an enemy?"

But while that was true, it wasn't the whole reason, or even the most important one.

Harry had no one here. No one, except for a boy he still half expected to go on a homicidal rampage at a moment's notice. This Dumbledore wasn't his former mentor, for sure, but he was the only sentient being here that Harry had any kind of attachment to in his previous life.

He'd been doing fine, or perhaps he'd simply been in shock, until the man appeared on his doorstep. Once he left, loneliness akin to that he felt every summer at the Dursely's had descended on him, only this time it was much worse. This time he wouldn't be seeing his friends again at the end of the summer. He wouldn't be seeing any of them again for years, except Dumbledore.

And Hagrid. Harry vowed to himself that the half-giant would be able to finish his schooling this time around.

"That doesn't mean you have to let him walk all over you. He's not that influential."

"But he _will_ be, don't you see?" Harry closed his eyes briefly, trying to break himself free of his nostalgia.

Tom scoffed. "So now you're a Seer as well, are you?"

"No!" Harry snapped, irritated. There. Nostalgia broken.

Tom shifted topics again, though the set of his jaw said the issue of the Transfiguration Professor would not be forgotten so easily.

"Then if it isn't the name, what is it?"

Harry stared at the boy, bewildered. "What?"

"If you don't care about Slytherin…" Tom wavered a bit, seeming unable to finish.

It finally dawned on Harry.

"You thought I adopted you because of an ancestor that lived a thousand years ago?" It would certainly help explain the boy's odd behavior these last few days, if he thought he'd found a solid way in which Harry had lied to him.

"I've told you why, Tom."

"I don't believe you!" Tom insisted.

"The only thing I want from you is someone I can call family. It's the truth, Tom, I swear."

Tom wavered. Harry kept eye contact.

"I don't believe you." But this time he didn't sound quite so certain.

"Give me a chance, Tom. Let me prove it to you." Harry swallowed. "Please."

Tom's expression closed completely. "You're a fool," he spat, and stormed from the room.

Harry slumped.

He would not feel sorry for himself. He would not be depressed, he would not be hurt, he would not be angry... he would be sick again if he didn't find someplace to lie down.

He grabbed the corner of the sink and hauled himself to his feet, staggering around to stand in front of it. He dropped the soiled cloth into it, propped his cane agains the door, washed his hands and rinsed his mouth, then leaned heavily on the counter, hands and chin dripping. Could he make it back up to his bedroom?

"Do you need help to the parlor?" asked an irritated voice right next to his ear. Harry started badly. He hadn't heard the boy come back. Harry scowled, pushed himself upright, and quickly caught himself again when his stomach reawoke with a warning twinge.

Tom muttered something derogatory. Harry straightened to turn his glare on the boy and had to catch himself on the doorframe this time as his knee protested. He bit back a frustrated groan. There was no way he was getting up to his room. He set off for the living room couch instead. Tom moved out of his way obligingly.

He paused when he got there, leaning heavily on the backboard of the couch, working up the energy to sit. The room still smelled of burnt bacon. Harry waved the windows open. He took a deep breath of the fresher air, walked around the side of the couch, and managed to lower himself onto it without too much fuss. He slipped down a bit, resting his head on the arm and sighing in relief at being somewhat horizontal again.

He still had Tom's wand. Harry reached forward to drop it onto the coffee table but missed. It fell to the floor instead.

To his surprise, Tom came into the room carrying a large bowl. "I don't want to clean it up if you get sick again and can't manage to make it back to the bathroom."

"Thanks," Harry muttered. "Your wand's on the floor," he added somewhat uselessly, as it had rolled into clear view from where the boy was standing. Tom set the bowl on the coffee table and picked it up without comment. Then he stood there.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Nothing."

Harry really wasn't up for another round of this. "Fine." He closed his eyes, not quite secure enough to actually turn his back to Tom by rolling over.

Tom didn't leave. "Do you need a potion?"

"No." His glasses were digging into his nose and temple. Harry pulled them off. Tom seemed to take that as a signal to leave.

* * *

The next afternoon found Harry comfortably ensconced in his favorite chair in the library, flipping through one of the books he'd borrowed from Hogwarts' library.

He still felt a bit off and so was trying to take it easy for a few days but couldn't stand to simply sit around. He figured research was a good enough compromise.

He skimmed yet another page when something caught his eye. He went back to make sure he hadn't just imagined the minute detail. His jaw dropped. It couldn't be that simple.

According to the book, it was.

He cast a speculative glance at the window he was sitting under, then shook out his wand and cast at it. A slight glow indicated it had worked.

Harry groaned and stood, trying not to feel like an idiot as he moved to the next window.

Why, out of all the books he'd read, was this one the first to mention that weatherproofing charms had to be cast on the _inside_ of the windows?

* * *

Tom and Harry entered Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Tom's trunk on a trolley beside them. As he didn't have many things yet, only a few of them had been left at the house. Tom's 'trophies' were not among the things he'd left behind.

Tom had 'earned' back only a few of them, mostly through his continued help with meals. When he started packing his things for school, Harry gave the rest back without comment.

The book on Pureblood families, however, stayed.

"So, I suppose I'll see you this evening."

New teachers were given the choice of whether or not to take the Hogwarts Express, as taking it gave them a chance to get to know some of the students before classes started. Harry had opted not to, and would instead be Apparating to Hogsmeade that evening in order to attend the Welcoming Feast.

Tom nodded, shifting once before he stilled himself. Harry was uncomfortable as well. "Bye, then."

"Goodbye." Tom set off through the crowd, trunk in tow.

Harry faded back into the crowd, simply watching. When the train pulled out of the station, he left without a word to anyone, Apparating straight home.

The house seemed quiet, even though Tom was by no means a loud boy. Restless, Harry headed outside. He still had need of the cane, but short distances he could now do without trouble. Wolf met him halfway across the lawn and settled onto his shoulder.

They entered the woods silently, and soon were at the small family graveyard. Harry stepped unerringly to a simple stone, the newest of the lot, set into the ground.

He brushed a few leaves aside with his foot then simply stood, staring at the memorial. Determination filled him. He could do this. For his friends, he could make life here work.

In Memory.

Harry smiled.

* * *

**End Story **

Note: Harry threw up because the strong smell of the bacon didn't react well with his already queasy stomach, not because Tom had done something malicious to the food.

Once again, a huge thank you to everyone who has shown their support for this story.

NEW NOTE as of Nov. 12, 2006. The sequel is up! It's titled Becoming Brothers and can be gotten to via the regular means.


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